


Take Yourself Home

by cobalamincosel, sneakiest



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bedsharing, Blowjobs, Coming Out, Confessions, Conflict, Crying, Dirty Talk, Domesticity, Drinking, Exploration, First Kiss, Fractured Relationships, Future Fic, Grinding, Hangover, Hansol leaving SM is addressed, Intense Sex, Internalized Homophobia, Johnny and Mark go on a Date, Johnny left SM before debut, M/M, Mark/OFC - Freeform, Masturbation, Non-Linear Narrative, Realizations, Rimming, Scandal, Slow Burn, Vaping, beta wants us to note EXCRUCIATING slow burn, contract resolution, discussion of past relationships, everything happens so much, flashbacks to 2016 and beyond, handjobs, mention of Jungwoo's hiatus, mentions of nausea/illness related to drinking, mentions of prep and hygiene, no underage relationship or content, on-page sex with the original female character, praying, religious character, the promised happy ending!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:08:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 129,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25843351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobalamincosel/pseuds/cobalamincosel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneakiest/pseuds/sneakiest
Summary: Mark hasn't seen Johnny Suh in six years, and he never assumed he would be forcibly reminded of his existence because of Johnny coming out.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 697
Kudos: 1017





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Troye Sivan! Thank you so much to Tay for the beta. 💜
> 
> As noted in the tags, this story features flashbacks to Mark and Johnny (and the rest of the NCT crew) pre-debut, but we wanted to note that there is no romantic and/or sexual relationship or content featuring Mark (or anyone else underage) during that time. The JohnMark is very much happening in the present (or, well, in 2022, when Mark is 23 and Johnny is 27).
> 
> Notes from Sneaky (🐍): I hope everyone enjoys this somewhat angsty ride through an AU that Mon and I tormented ourselves with. Thank you to Mon herself for being a kick-ass friend and writer, for agreeing to write this monster with me, and for being half the reason I got into JohnMark in the first place. <3 
> 
> Notes from Mon (🐱): When Sneaky came to me with this idea, I knew I was gonna be doomed but in the best way. This is not my first collab, but it is my first collab of this nature: a story that is sprawling, and kind of painful to imagine. Johnny was my gateway into K-pop and NCT—without him, I wouldn’t be here, writing fic at all. It has been an absolute joy to read Sneaky’s work, so you can imagine how honored I feel at the fact that we’re writing something together. Thank you to Sneaky for trusting me to come on this endeavor with you, and thank you to you, dear reader, for giving us reasons to keep going and telling stories. <3

_markleuleees: did you know johnny was bi?????_

_NCTZENHOLE: MARK DID YOU SEE THE ARTICLE?????_

The same sort of words appear over and over and over in the chat on the side of the VLive stream. Mark brushes it off. Fans do this shit all the time, have done so for years now, so there's no reason for him to pay it any attention.

"What music am I listening to right now?" Mark says, willfully ignoring the questions about Johnny, even if it makes no fucking sense that the fans would be asking him about an old trainee.

He picks his phone up with the intention of opening the Melon app when he sees it, part of the news alerts he has set: an article on Koreaboo, with the headline "Former SM Trainee Johnny Suh Comes Out As Bisexual."

What the fuck is going on?

He gapes at his screen for a second before realizing that's damning, that his silence has gone on too long, and he forces out, "Uh, the usual, you know, lots of Frank Ocean, but I'm digging the new DPR LIVE album." It's a question he gets asked multiple times per week, so he's used to mumbling out an answer on command, but he probably looks as unnerved and unfocused as he feels.

He skims the article, hoping against hope it looks like he's reading the feed of VLive comments. Whatever unpaid intern wrote this is clearly and understandably phoning it in; they get Johnny's age and his date of departure from SM all wrong, but the rest of it seems to be accurate.

There are some tweets of people spotting Johnny at NYC's Pride Parade—that's right, he remembers, Johnny lives in New York now—and a blurry candid shot of someone from the side that could be Johnny or any other moderately tall man with dark hair and a pointy chin.

But then Johnny's own Instagram is featured, a shot of Johnny in sunglasses and a muscle tank, smiling in front of a lively parade float. His caption is a rainbow, and Mark spots a multi-colored pin on his shirt that he's ninety percent certain is the bisexual flag.

Mark almost drops his phone. He hasn't seen Johnny Suh in six years, and he never assumed he would be forcibly reminded of his existence because of Johnny… coming out.

Not that there's anything wrong with Johnny being bi. Mark's just caught off guard. It's fine, it's not like Mark doesn't know any bi people, or gay people, or whatever. It's that he hasn't thought about Johnny in ages, and learning this about him feels like an invasion of privacy or something.

And he's becoming increasingly, horrifyingly aware that fans are going to be able to put the pieces together of his weird behavior, and that he needs to get off live fast because they're going to keep asking questions about the article.

One glance at the comments lets him know he's right; it's devolved into a frenzy of the same questions in basically every language Mark has ever encountered. _Did you know about Johnny? Do you hate gay people?_

It's only been a minute since the bomb dropped, but his manager has texted him five times, a panicked entreaty to get the fuck _off_. He'd be delighted to, but Mark is scrambling to come up with a reason, considering that he's only been live for a little while.

He eases into it, saying he's gotta go for lunch and thanking the fans for joining him in all the languages he can think of. Mark ends the broadcast, his heart still racing, thrown by the fact that his manager seems to have been more wound up than he was, but he takes a breath, closes his eyes, and presses the heels of his hands into them.

The last six years have seen NCT weathering a lot of the bullshit that comes with unfounded claims and little fires that, for the most part, did not require a statement from them or from SM. There have been controversies before, hand-written apologies posted on Instagram pages, times when they've had to do damage control by flooding Bubble with inane updates until the fandom calmed down somewhat.

It's not easy. There's so much work that goes into PR for them, though the leash has slackened somewhat over the years.

Mark rubs the back of his neck, sighing as he picks his phone up to see the stupid article again, really taking in the details of what's been said. He ends up searching further, to see if there's legit coverage outside of Koreaboo, and there are a lot of results as the story is big news in K-pop.

What Mark sees is mostly speculation, the worst of which is a nasty article written by some internet rando claiming that Johnny Suh was forced to leave SM because of his sexuality.

Mark knows he shouldn't keep looking, but he's gone this far already. He opens Twitter, and when he keys in 'johnny suh' into the search bar, it's all there, happening in real time: the Instagram post; screencaps of Mark's confused face on VLive, then shots of him frowning at his phone; tweets with the hashtag #SMHomophobes and #SMapologizeToJohnny. The conspiracy theory that Johnny was full-on kicked out of SM because they somehow knew about his sexuality is gaining momentum.

Suddenly, there's a small legion of fans coming forward to talk about someone that Mark hasn't really given much thought to since—well, since Johnny left. The tweets from the old SM Rookies account start to make their rounds again, and the tag is an onslaught of photos from when he was tiny and fresh-faced, and it really brings his reality crashing down on him that he's been doing this for this long. For longer.

There are photos of him with Johnny, perched on Johnny's shoulders after graduation, two bouquets in either of Mark's hands; a mirror shot of the two of them, Mark dressed in denim and Johnny holding his old DSLR up to take the shot; the day that Mark led the surprise for Johnny's birthday, when he was tasked with bringing Johnny through the rooms for the Post-it notes and the ultimately to the room with Eomma Suh's birthday greeting.

Mark feels like those Bugs Bunny cartoons where the character has an anvil dropped on their head, because suddenly he feels it all over again, like someone's taken a scalpel to his chest and cut through old scar tissue clean.

His insides clench up, and his back bows under the weight of memory.

↩️↩️↩️

There's shouting inside the dorms. That's the first thing that Mark picks up on after getting back from his rap lessons.

The noise isn't surprising, but the source of it is.

Taeyong's door is closed, the raised voices filtering through regardless. Their walls are paper-thin. Mark drops his backpack and moves in closer. He doesn't even know where the rest of the group is, but he's the only one out here, and he wonders if the others can hear it in their rooms.

"—just tired! I don't want to fight you on this anymore—"

Johnny's voice.

"You just—it's coming! I swear, I swear that you're going to debut—"

Taeyong's voice.

"Can you both please stop shouting?"

Ten?

Mark's shaking a bit, and he knows he shouldn't be listening in on this. He's running on four hours of sleep since both his anxiety over debut and the practices they've had to run to prepare for _The 7th Sense_ have been grueling, and the smartest thing for him to do is to go shower and put his earphones in and pretend that his older members aren't duking it out inside Taeyong's room.

Except he's frozen there, in the middle of the kitchen, a few meters away from the white door that separates him from his hyungs, and what Johnny says next roots him to the spot.

"I've given nine years of my life to this company. I've watched everyone else come before me and after me debut, and I know! I know that I'm fucking up here, I know that I'm spoiling your debuts because I'm bitching about my own, but I just cannot do it anymore!"

The silence that follows is deafening.

Mark trembles, because what Johnny is saying sounds dangerously like he's leaving, and Mark doesn't know how to handle that. Johnny can't leave. He just can't. That isn't how this is supposed to go. Johnny's been learning Mandarin; he's trained with them since before Mark even showed up. He can't leave.

"Yong, you can't promise me anything—let me finish—you can't promise me anything and I don't hold that against you. This isn't about you or Ten, I'm not angry that you're debuting, I just. I'm sorry. I can't stick around waiting to get my heart broken over and over again. I didn't arrive at this decision overnight—what do you take me for?"

Mark jumps when the door is wrenched open, and Ten comes out, face tear-streaked and nose red. He catches Mark, looks like a deer caught in the headlights, and then slams the door behind him.

Ten looks at Mark with shining eyes, the light dancing off of them.

"What's going on?" Mark asks with a raspy voice, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He balls his fists like he's bracing for impact.

"Johnny's leaving," Ten says, voice flat, before sniffling and walking off.

Ten's departure seems to spell the end of that conversation, or at least the screaming match that took place. An eerie calm settles over Mark, over the expanse of the room. Mark can't compute it, Johnny leaving, but it isn't like he can knock on Taeyong's door and ask to be involved in this when clearly they tried to keep it contained. It doesn't matter that it didn't work.

Mark doesn't sleep that night, despite knowing full well that he has practice early in the morning the next day. He lies awake and wonders if he'd missed any of the signs, if Johnny had been so unhappy in their conversations that Mark should have seen this coming. Mark knows that it must be frustrating.

He thought that he and Johnny were friends, but it makes sense that he wouldn't confide in Mark about this. Mark's just a dumb sixteen-year-old, with no wisdom like the kind Ten and even Taeyong carry. But that doesn't stop his thoughts from spiraling.

It takes him three hours to convince himself that that fight was a blip, that it'll smooth over like all the other fights that they've had to wrangle in the years they've been together, working themselves to the bone.

Except that in the succeeding weeks, Mark sees less and less of Johnny, since he's stuck in the practice rooms perfecting the choreography for a song that feels like a long-shot as a debut.

Taeyong's hair turns icy white, and Ten's hair is shaved off into a pattern that leaves Ten staring at his reflection in mild horror for a good hour after it's done. Mark's given a fringe that makes no sense to him unless it's styled, and when they come home to the dorms after another grueling day, half of Johnny's things are packed into boxes, and Johnny's sorting his clothes on his bed with his door open.

Taeyong pointedly walks into his and Doyoung's room. Yuta's perched on Johnny's bed folding some T-shirts and putting them on a pile.

Mark feels like he's going to fall apart.

Tears prickle at his eyes, and he stumbles over his socked feet toward Johnny's room, his hand on the door frame.

"What—wait, wait, you were serious?" Mark chokes out, making Johnny look up from the pile of jeans on the floor. "You're really… what?"

Yuta glances between the two of them and rises from the bed, circling around it until he reaches Mark. He squeezes Mark's shoulder once and exits the room. It feels like he takes the life out with him when he goes.

"Yeah, dude," Johnny says in English. "I got the approval today. So I'm going."

"But why?" Mark can feel a swell of emotion he can't explain rising inside his throat, and he holds onto the door frame tighter.

Johnny sighs, like he's had to explain himself over and over again. "I've been in the company since 2007, man," Johnny says, tired. "Gave my entire life to being a trainee. I'm done wasting it here."

_Waste._

"What about us? What—"

Johnny looks up at Mark, and there's pain there that is bold and open, and he clamps his jaw shut, his teeth clicking together like a lock.

"I've got a lot of stuff to pack, Mark," Johnny says quietly, turning back to the jeans. "I'll talk to you when I'm done."

Mark lets go of the door frame, takes a step back, and walks away.

↪️↪️↪️

They're instructed to stay radio silent for the evening, no Bubble messages, no VLives. Even WayV stays quiet.

When Taeyong comes home from having spent all day at the studio, Mark watches him enter the dorm from where he's seated on the couch, and Taeyong stretches out before coming over to flop down next to Mark. It's obvious that he's had his shoulders in a tense knot all day.

"Hey, hyung," Mark says, pausing his rewatch of _Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood_.

"Hey, yourself," Taeyong groans, his face buried in his hands. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Mark replies, knowing that Taeyong's asking about the VLive debacle. "Just another day, you know?"

"Sure," Taeyong says.

Mark sees the lines on his face, usually hidden from anyone's view because of all the makeup. Taeyong's always been sort of baby-faced without all of the glitter and the foundation, but right now, Mark can see the weight of the years in the downturn of Taeyong's mouth, the hard set of his eyes.

"Do you think the company is gonna put out a statement? Did manager-hyung say anything?" Mark asks, worrying at a hangnail with his teeth.

Taeyong frowns at him and swats Mark's hand away from his mouth, even though his own nail-chewing habit is out of control. "No," he says. "It's not big enough to warrant a statement. You know how SM is about this. Besides, the k-nets don't seem to care much."

Mark purses his lips. He figured that that was probably going to be the case, but it doesn't quell the sense of unease that sits heavy in his stomach over it. Sitting here with Taeyong jogs something from Mark's memory, from the messy days that led up to their debut and Johnny's departure.

"Did you know?" Mark asks, turning to get a good look at Taeyong.

"Know what?" Taeyong replies, his hand covering his eyes like the glare of the white fluorescent is too bright for him.

"That Johnny-hyung is bi?"

Taeyong pulls his hand away before twisting his head to the side, then the other, like he's working knots out of his neck. "Yeah, I did," he says.

"Do you think the rumors are true? That he left because of that?" Mark asks, gulping through the dread of whatever answer Taeyong has.

Taeyong's quiet for a moment, before exhaling loud and long and clearing his throat. "I can't say for sure if that ever really factored much into it," he finally replies. "He'd alluded to it, sure, but the main reason why he left was because he was tired." He breaks off, looks past Mark, out the window. The tight set of Taeyong's jaw makes Mark worry.

"What is it?" Mark asks tentatively. "Why do you look like that?"

Taeyong's shoulders drop, then straighten out, like he's remembering that he's supposed to be a functional human at the moment and not a sack of bones. "Johnny was intended to debut with _Limitless_ , with Doyoung. I only found this out a few years ago, around _Punch_ promotions, but that's what one of the producers told me."

" _Jesuuuus_ ," Mark says, leaning back into the cushion.

"Yeah, I know," Taeyong says. "I wonder if he regrets it."

"You guys don't talk anymore?" Mark asks, surprised. Johnny and Taeyong were close—close enough that Taeyong brought Johnny to his sister's wedding; close enough that they'd been inseparable for most of training, along with Yuta and Ten. Mark assumed Johnny would have kept up with Taeyong, at least.

Taeyong shakes his head. "Not much. I messaged him when we had our last stop for The Awards, but he just said he was busy that night and sent along some flowers," Taeyong says. "He's moved on from… whatever. All of this, I guess."

Mark itches to ask more, dig deeper, but it's then that he realizes that there are too many things about Johnny that he's kept under lock and key all these years that are suddenly, all at once, starting to make themselves known to him again.

There is an entire Pandora's box of stuff that he kicked into a forgotten corner of his mind when he watched Johnny pack his things away, and he'd been go, go, go from then until now. This conversation with Taeyong, coupled with the old SM Rookies photos he saw earlier, is really starting to make him cave in on himself.

When Johnny left, Mark cauterized the wound and refused to think about it, and now he's realizing maybe that wasn't for the best.

"Do you think he's like, okay? Like, his name's all over Naver right now," Mark says.

Taeyong takes a moment and scratches the corner of his mouth with a ragged thumbnail. "I don't know," he says eventually. "I know he thought about what would happen if it got out, but that was when he was with the company."

Mark lost his phone in a shopping trip once and worried for twenty-four hours that some sasaeng had it and would blast the contents of his texts and gallery—and internet history—all over. He worked himself up to a sweaty panic, scrambling to put together a plan to combat the bad press and hit to his reputation, until his manager found it, all of his swearing and company-unapproved behavior safe and sound.

That was just, like, a taste of a nightmare that never ended up coming true, but Johnny is living it for real. He's a civilian now, yet he's still dealing with the fallout of being associated with the company. Of almost being famous, once.

It's got to feel pretty bad. Mark sits in silence and tries to sift through old, buried feelings and this new spark of worry for Johnny. He's trying to live his life in the States and put all this behind him, and now he's got to be drowning in media requests and fans and homophobes. It seems like he came out of his own volition, at least.

But maybe being spotted at the Pride Parade forced his hand? Jesus, Mark hopes not.

"Can you ask him how he's doing?" Mark asks.

"I sent him a message earlier," Taeyong says, and cracks a tired smile. "If I hear back at all, it'll be in a week or two, knowing Johnny."

Mark fights a swell of bitterness that even Taeyong is locked out of Johnny's life. _Taeyong_. But he reminds himself that Johnny's in the midst of a storm and Mark doesn't know his reasons for doing things.

He's not even a hundred percent on what made Johnny leave in the first place, since the hyungs pretty much only talked about it amongst themselves. Mark has a lot of unanswered questions—and unresolved feelings, apparently—if this weird-ass day and its revelations are any indication. He never got that talk with Johnny; it was never explained to him why Johnny left, not really, and it wasn't like he could go ask Ten about it and risk setting him off like a firework.

Hansol leaving was different. It was point-blank obvious; everyone knew he struggled with management's demands and wasn't happy—unlike Johnny, he made no show of pretending to be. The company didn't even dangle a debut in front of him to get him to stay, just let him out of his contract and washed their hands of the whole thing. Mark misses Hansol, sure, but he deserved better, and he made a point of talking to Mark in private before he announced he was leaving. And as much as Mark has fond memories of the guy, he's not… he's not Johnny.

"Hey, uh, could you give me his phone number?" Mark asks before his bravery runs out. "I want to at least tell him I wasn't scowling because of him."

Taeyong eyes him, and Mark wonders if Taeyong will invent some excuse not to give him the number, or if he'll bring up the fact that Mark has not mentioned Johnny Suh by name since the day he left. "Give your phone," he says, and Mark hands it to him with relief.

Now he just needs to figure out what to say to someone he's avoided thinking about for six years. No big.

↩️↩️↩️

Mark doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to be at this fucking send-off, not when he can't even really wrap his head around the fact that they're sending someone off at all.

Johnny's decked out with tinsel in his hair and a stupid party hat on, but it's a tense sort of air in the conference room they've booked for this going-away party. Taeil, Taeyong, and Yuta, being the eldest, take the reins over the entire thing, trying to put on a brave face and make the event jovial. Ten barely even looks at Johnny, and it's a painful thing to watch them dance around each other.

There's a lot of food, a mishmash of Johnny's favorite Korean dishes and, like, platters of sushi and boxes of pizza, and Mark tries to play along, but instead busies himself with Donghyuck and the rest of the maknaes, stuffing himself with food so he doesn't have to deal with the nervous, jittery cloud that follows Doyoung around, or the fact that Jaehyun's been quiet for most of the evening.

It's obvious no one wants Johnny to leave, all to varying degrees, sure, but ultimately all of this just really fucking sucks. Hansol and Johnny are talking at the head of the table, heads knocked together like it's serious. Something clenches inside of Mark at the scene, something uncomfortable, a fear that he's seeing an omen right before his eyes.

"Yo, Canada," Donghyuck says. "I asked you if you were okay."

Mark turns his attention back to Donghyuck and Jeno, who are both staring at him like he's grown another head. "Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine."

Donghyuck looks skeptical, but then Donghyuck always looks skeptical, so Mark just brushes it off, helps himself to another slice of pajeon, and willfully looks away from Johnny.

It works for the most part, except that half the trainees around Mark start breaking into tears when the party winds down. Ah. Right. Not everyone lives in the same dorm. Not everyone has to watch Johnny actually leave in the morning.

Johnny's surrounded by Yeri, Jisung, and Jaemin, all of them saying their goodbyes. There's a whole round of it, some high fives, and Johnny still just towering over everyone, ruffling the hair of every person his hands can reach.

Ten accosts Johnny in one corner of the room and cries into the front of Johnny's zipped-up jacket for what seems like a solid ten minutes before Ten quite literally pushes away from Johnny and bids him goodbye. Mark tries not to stare, but it's hard to look away from, like a car accident.

The room starts to empty, and the party winds down. The tinsel and the paper plates get tossed in the trash. They get herded into their vans and shuttled back home to their dorms.

Mark doesn't know how to articulate what it is that he wants to say to Johnny. Four years is a long time, and it eats away at him to know that Mark is very much losing someone who he looked up to as a friend, as an older brother.

It's hard to not feel like he's being discarded. Mark wishes there was a better way to frame it, but it's kind of like he's been tossed to the side, and he's pretty sure that he is not the only one feeling it.

In his head, he remembers the fight that transpired, the one that he wasn't even supposed to have been privy to, and on some level, he feels the guilt of his own impending debut while Johnny prepares to fly back home to Chicago. It certainly doesn't help that all the ones closest to Johnny are in this unit.

Johnny's shipped off most of his things back home already, and all that remains for him to bring back on his flight are his one giant suitcase, his backpack, and his neck pillow, all of which are already parked in the living room when they all file into the dorm.

Silence blankets them as they step into the room. The clock reads 11:47 p.m.

He's not officially their leader yet, but Taeyong wears the crown like he was made for it. He herds everyone in, tells people to get enough rest, early morning ahead, etcetera.

"No staying up too late," Taeyong intones, mostly directing his attention at Donghyuck, Taeil, and Yuta.

There won't be much fanfare—none of them are seeing Johnny off at the airport, but Mark wishes that they could, even if Mark has no idea what the fuck he'd say to Johnny there, considering that he doesn't even know what to say to Johnny here, right now.

Mark settles on the couch and watches as Johnny walks into his room, Yuta already there on the other bed, fiddling with his phone while Johnny lays out the clothes he's wearing tomorrow.

Mark's been trying to write it down, figure out what to do with the mess of emotions that he feels, but it's impossible to extricate the inexplicable anger that seems to simmer under his skin whenever he does. This isn't about him; this is about Johnny's years devoted to training, Johnny's constant almosts and what-ifs. Mark can't even begin to know what that feels like training for years and years and then being benched, one group after another. Exo. NCT U. And now with NCT 127 in the works, there's still no word about Johnny.

_This isn't about him. This isn't about him._

There's a bracelet in Mark's room that he's had for a couple of weeks now, some dumb thing where he'd attached an old guitar pick and thought that maybe it could be something that Johnny could remember him by. But he's put off giving it to Johnny this entire time, and he doesn't think he's going to go through with it. Johnny probably won't want any reminders of his time here, which is a bitter pill to swallow.

"Hey, Mark?" Johnny calls out, and Mark's startled into action, realizing that Johnny is calling him over.

"Yeah, hyung?" Mark asks. He hates that his voice cracks. It's taking a while for him to learn how to modulate it.

He walks into the room, Johnny seated on the edge of his bed. He's hunched over himself, and Mark sees a small seal plushie in his hand.

"Remember when we won this at Lotte World?" Johnny asks, holding it out for Mark to take.

Mark doesn't remember the plushie exactly, but he remembers that day and how he'd been too terrified to get on any of the rides that the hyungs wanted to go on, and how Johnny had had his fill of the big rides before he'd taken Mark by the shoulder and said, "C'mon, let's go do some non-rollercoaster-y things."

He holds the seal in his hand and blinks away the errant tears that spring to his eyes. Four years of friendship, and what do they have to show for it? It feels supremely unfair, and it doesn't seem like there are words enough to get that message across.

"I'm gonna miss you, hyung," Mark says. His English slips out less and less these days, mainly because he hasn't been talking to Johnny much. He'll be talking to him even less once he leaves.

Johnny's face brightens up. "You're gonna be too busy to miss me, Mark Lee," he says, and Mark wonders if he means it, or if Johnny's just really that good at masking his bitterness. "You're gonna be non-stop from here. I know it. You're gonna go so far."

Mark flushes, feels the heat rise to his cheeks. He has no idea what it's going to be like when _The 7th Sense_ drops. Has no idea whether the GP is gonna like it or if their modest smattering of fans will take to it. He swallows.

"Thanks, hyung," Mark says. Hesitantly, Mark steps in and goes for a hug that Johnny stands up for and takes to like it's effortless. Mark feels the clap on his back and steps back.

"Get some sleep, dude," Johnny says. "See you later."

Mark doesn't slip into sleep until maybe four in the morning, seal plushie in hand.

↪️↪️↪️

_> Hi Johnny, it's Mark._

The cursor blinks at him, and Mark blinks back.

He has no idea what the fuck he's doing. He deletes and tries again.

_> Johnny, this is Mark. I just wanted to reach out_

Groaning, Mark rolls over on his bed and faces the wall. All of his grand ideas to extend an olive branch to Johnny—and to make sure he knows Mark isn't, like, wildly homophobic or cursing his name or whatever the screencaps might be implying—have stalled out. It's just so fucking awkward. He thought about what to say until he fell asleep last night, and he's been distracted all morning since waking up, frozen in bed considering his options. The internet storm hasn't died down since yesterday, but it doesn't seem to have gotten much worse. Management still has them under a gag order, but he saw Ten posted a picture of Leon to Bubble as a quiet fuck you when his patience at being controlled ran out. Chenle's been posting to his Instagram like nothing even happened, but Mark's not sure what it would take to make him take SM's leash seriously.

_> Hey, I don't know if you saw the VLive stuff, but I wasn't_

There's a loud slam on his door, which has Mark fumble his phone out of his hands and onto his bed.

"Mark," Yuta yells. "Get up for lunch, it's getting cold." He opens the door and pokes his head in as Mark twists uncomfortably to look at him.

Oh yeah. Yuta texted him to get up for lunch a while ago. They're having a once-in-a-blue-moon big group meal on the tenth floor, ostensibly for no reason but actually because a former trainee and one-time friend is being hounded and they all feel weird about it.

"You're not jerking off in here, are you?" Yuta asks, sniffing the air.

Mark groans a laugh and forces himself upright. He's still in his sleep clothes, but his hoodie is draped over his headboard, so he grabs it and tugs it on. "I know how to lock the door, thanks," he says, teasing out his bedhead with his fingers.

"Hurry up, no one cares what your hair looks like."

"Give me a second, I'm finishing something." Mark's impatient with himself and hungry and ready to be done agonizing over this. He'll never come up with a message that will cover all bases and not be awkward, so he might as well go for it.

**[Me: 11:45 am]**  
_> Hi Johnny, it's Mark Lee. Got your number from Taeyong. I just wanted to see how you're doing and if you need anything. Take care, okay?_

He presses send and exhales heavy. That's done.

Yuta is still waiting in the threshold, bare arms folded across his chest, rangy muscles on display. He grins at Mark when he finally stands up, slinging an arm around Mark's shoulders when he gets close enough.

The two of them make their way into the kitchen, which is fucking loud, seven of them plus the dorm auntie packed in, with chairs pilfered from different rooms. There's space next to Taeyong, which is where Mark heads, and Yuta pats his butt as they separate.

"You all are feral," Mark says, fishing for matching chopsticks among the pile on the table, and Doyoung gives him a squinty look of disapproval. "Seriously," he insists, as Jaehyun and Donghyuck argue about what background music to play and prove his point. "We're going to get another noise complaint."

"We don't get noise complaints on the fifth floor," Donghyuck says, not even looking away from his phone. It seems like he won the argument, and his favorite playlist starts playing from the Bluetooth speakers, a decibel too loud for an already crowded space.

Taeyong snorts. "That's not true. Remember when you and Doyoung—"

"That was _last year_ , and I think the staff were lying about the neighbors complaining to make us feel guilty," Donghyuck protests, and then turns a winning smile up to the dorm auntie when she sets another plate of banchan in front of him. "Thank you, Auntie."

"I offered to switch," Jaehyun says mildly. "I've roomed with Doyoung before, I can do it again."

It's probably a little unfair that Mark and Taeyong more or less have rooms to themselves when everyone is doubled up. On paper, Mark shares his room with a manager, but they have an apartment and a girlfriend they prefer to a sad twin bed, so most nights he's on his own. "We have that empty room until Taeil gets back," Mark says. "Hyuck, you could take that and avoid starting World War III."

That causes a hiccup in the conversation. It's not like they're not used to Taeil being gone, or like it's a forbidden topic. Still, on the heels of everyone thinking about Johnny, the reminder of how weird and unbalanced things feel—a whole room empty because Yuta and Jungwoo doubled up after Taeil enlisted—is sobering.

Mark quickly prays under his breath and pops some egg into his mouth to stop more awkward things from tumbling out.

"What would Doyoung complain about if I'm not there?" Donghyuck says.

Taeyong pets his head, like Hyuck is still a precocious little kid and not a grown man who barely gets along with his roommate. Though that's more than half Doyoung's fault, since he always rises to Hyuck's bait, even when Donghyuck is clearly joking. Mark's fallen for the same trap a hundred times; there's a reason he refuses to share with Hyuck for more than a night or two. Their friendship is better for it this way.

Conversation settles down as everyone starts really digging in, and true to form, most people are on their phones. Yuta's reading a novel in his little corner, spooning stew and rice into his mouth without looking.

He's not surprised that Doyoung's the first one to bring it up, the reason they're all together.

"I don't think SM will make a statement, and they will probably tell us not to." He pauses for effect, stirring his bowl, and eyes everyone on the opposite side of the table from him. "If things get worse for Johnny, it might be useful if one of us does break rank and post something."

Okay, he _is_ surprised Doyoung is the one to suggest they go against the company line and potentially invite a shitstorm. Doyoung avoids scandal like a master; for all that he's painfully transparent, he keeps his nose clean and his mouth shut.

"You could get in a lot of trouble," Taeyong says, mouth full. "And Johnny might not want us making him even more of a headline—"

"We could ask him," Doyoung says calmly. "But frankly, this is as much about Johnny as it is reinforcing the idea that being gay is a terrible scandal. It's not."

The room is even quieter but for Donghyuck's playlist. While everyone looks thoughtful, measuring Doyoung's words, Mark does not kid himself into thinking it's that black and white. There's a reason there are no openly LGBT idols, except for a few on the fringes, none with a Big Three. Johnny's much safer back in New York than he would be here. If he'd come out as bi while still with the company, he would have torpedoed his career, possibly beyond saving. Posting something supportive against company wishes won't be the same level of dangerous, but they will get blowback.

Still, there's little doubt in him that anyone in the band would do it, to hell with the consequences. Mark realizes he would, and not only because he's uncomfortable with the hashtags calling him a bigot. He would support Johnny publicly if that's what Johnny wants. He feels like the worst possible person to do it, after six years of radio silence, but he would.

The weight of Mark's phone in his hoodie feels like it's pulling him down to the ground, somehow. He retrieves his phone, and his heart beats in double time when he sees he has a notification, but it's his mom, asking if he's okay.

 **[Me: 12:10 p.m.]**  
_> I'm fine mom _❤️ _Having a big lunch haha. We're waiting to see if SM wants to make a statement_

He sets his phone face-down next to his bowl as Taeyong, Doyoung, and Hyuck talk over the finer points of how they could show support without making it worse for Johnny.

"People will believe whatever they want if we don't say anything," Hyuck says. "But if we do speak up, we can correct some of it."

"Should Taeil-hyung be here for this? I can call him," Jungwoo says. "I think he might have today off." Taeil's still in their group chats, of course, but he checks them in an exhausted speed-read after his working day is over, or on his days off, and he usually can't keep up with the flood of information. They secretly, guiltily, made a new one for all the active members, one that's sure to cycle through people once Taeyong enlists.

Mark almost chokes on his bite thinking of that eventuality. Christ.

"We're not bothering Taeil until we know what we're doing," Taeyong says firmly, and Doyoung hesitates before nodding.

"We're not doing _anything_ until we hear from Johnny," Jaehyun says. "It's up to him. Yong, did you text him?"

"Not about this," Taeyong says grimly, and sighs. "If he answers me, I'll ask him, okay?"

"Oh, shit," Yuta says, and every head at the table snaps to him. He's sitting cross-legged in his chair, food and book forgotten, wearing an expression of dawning delight. "Johnny got _hot_ ," he crows, and brandishes his phone like he's found the secrets to the universe.

Mark, on the far end of the table from him, shakes his head and goes back to his food. Taeyong does the same, but the two of them are repeatedly disrupted by theatrical gasps and Donghyuck's running commentary on Johnny's fashion sense, mostly in the positives.

"Oh, he looks so different," Jungwoo says.

"He looks exactly the same," Jaehyun argues.

It's almost cute, kinda, the way they're freaked out by the fact that time has passed and Johnny doesn't look like the twenty-one-year-old he used to be. The cognitive dissonance is to be expected, he guesses. Mark—and the rest of the maknaes—grew up in front of their eyes gradually, so they could barely track the changes beyond his cracking voice and shitty skin. Johnny just left, and his memory is pretty much unchanged for all of them.

Yuta's phone is forced into his field of vision, and Mark glances down at the screen to see Johnny—well, _eye fucking_ the camera. Johnny's on his belly, looking over his shoulder, and it shouldn't look so alluring, considering that Johnny's fully clothed in jeans and a white shirt, but it's the come-hither expression that Johnny has on that makes Mark do a double-take. That and how tight his jeans are.

"Shit, he would have made such a good idol," Yuta says, shaking his head. "Look at him."

Yuta's right, Mark thinks, as they scroll through the rest of Johnny's feed. His face has sharper edges now, cheekbones more prominent, hair cycling through varying shades of blond and brown and burgundy and a few different lengths. Handsome. So handsome. Johnny always looked good, but Jaehyun needs glasses if he thinks Johnny looks the same as he did in 2016.

His phone buzzes, clattering on the table, and grateful for the distraction, Mark grabs it. He expects it's his mom, probably trying to get him to open up about what's going on in her careful way, but no.

It's Johnny. A spike of adrenaline hits Mark, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

**[Johnny Suh 12:16 p.m.]**  
_> Seriously, this now? Fuck off sasaeng_

Mark almost squawks in panic, realizing that Johnny must be under a deluge of messages. Phone numbers don't stay secret for long, and now all the saesangs have a reason to care a lot about Johnny again. No doubt Mark's auto-block app for numbers not in his contact list is working overtime lately.

If anyone notices him glued to his phone, chewing his lip raw and frantically trying to come up with something to reassure Johnny that he's not a stalker trying to fake him out, they don't say anything. Small favors.

He could send Johnny a selfie, but he's sitting at the breakfast table with everyone and they might have questions. He's not ready to announce that he texted Johnny—it still feels uncomfortable, like he's doing something he shouldn't, and he has no idea how Johnny will react when he discovers it's actually Mark. God, if he hasn't already blocked him yet.

**[Me: 12:17 p.m.]**  
_> No no no hold on it's me I promise give me a sec_

He pulls up his gallery and searches through his recent photos, but it's just a sea of selfies he could have ostensibly sent to Bubble, or pictures of the dorm—a dorm Johnny isn't even familiar with. He finds a shot of his desk, his Macbook open to the latest track he's fucking around with, and behind it, there's a peek of soft blue-gray.

The seal plushie. He's never been able to part with and put away with the rest of his adolescent bullshit. He hopes Johnny remembers it. If not, he's going to have to ask Taeyong to send Johnny Mark's contact info, and this whole thing will become even more cringe.

**[Me: 12:19 p.m.]**  
_> You gave me this little guy, remember?_

Mark hits send and holds his breath, glancing up once to make sure no one has caught on or wants his attention. Doyoung slides him an odd look, but everyone else is still enraptured with Johnny's Instagram. Yuta's yelling something about _thirst traps_ , a phrase in English Mark wasn't even aware he knew.

Doyoung starts lecturing them about Johnny's privacy and how this is inappropriate, but Mark is back to jiggling his leg under the table and staring down at his phone like it can manifest a reply if he focuses hard enough.

Weirdly, it does work.

**[Johnny Suh: 12:21 p.m.]**  
_> Mark??? Holy shit, sorry about that_  
_> I'm glad you kept him_

Mark's not sure how to cope with the swirling emotions that evokes in him. He's relieved Johnny knows it's him and that Johnny remembered the little relic he'd left Mark that last night he was here; nervous because he doesn't know where to go from here; and… glad? To be talking to Johnny again, glad despite thinking his well of Johnny feelings ran dry years ago.

**[Me: 12:23 p.m.]**  
_> Yeah it's me haha. I'm sorry there's so many people bugging you, you can tell me to fuck off if you want to. _

He doesn't have to wait long for a reply. Mark keeps himself occupied by inhaling a few bites of kimchi and rice, and he's serving himself some watermelon when it comes in.

 **[Johnny Suh 12:24 p.m]**  
_> Language young man! _😂  
_> No need to fuck off on my account. I'm really glad you texted. How's idol life treating you?_

Doyoung apparently successfully managed to confiscate Yuta's phone. The table has moved on from creeping on Johnny's pics and back into bickering about table manners and how Jungwoo eats all the good banchan before anyone can get to it.

Mark almost feels like he is having an out-of-body experience. Texting Johnny Suh in the middle of the members, keeping his phone angled in case of someone snooping, trying to eat one-handed. Trying to master his long-dormant emotions.

"You all right?" Taeyong asks softly. "You're quiet."

"Ah, just texting my mom about the hashtags," Mark lies, and he's pretty sure Taeyong sees right through it, given how well they know each other at this point. It was a lousy attempt at lying anyway. He'll tell Taeyong—he'll tell _everyone_ —later, once he feels like he's on something like solid ground with Johnny. Mark hesitates, long enough to chew and swallow another mouthful of food he barely tastes. "Anything from Johnny?" he asks on a hunch.

Taeyong shakes his head. "Nothing yet."

"I'm sure he'll reply," Mark tries. "He's probably, uh, busy. And the time difference, you know."

"Probably," Taeyong says, and Mark stops looking at him to contemplate the phone in his hand, the texts from Johnny awaiting his reply.

 _So that's weird, huh_ , he thinks.

↩️↩️↩️

There's no sunshine streaming through the window when Mark's eyes fly open, Jaehyun already rising from his own bed. That seems the first indication that today isn't going to go very well.

Doyoung is half asleep at the dining table, and Johnny is finishing up his breakfast.

"Does the weather forecast say it's gonna rain today?" Taeyong asks, emerging from his room, frowning in worry.

"This afternoon," Johnny says lightly, as if this isn't the last of the conversations they're going to have together with him. God, they're just talking about the _weather_.

"Ah, you'll have taken off already, then," Taeyong says.

The silence is so heavy.

"Yeah," Johnny says. Leaves it at that.

Mark enters the bathroom and locks the door quickly behind him, fast enough that he can catch the dry-heaving that wracks through his body when he grips the edges of the sink.

There is a small screaming voice in Mark's head that tells him that he needs to at least tell Johnny how grateful he is for having had him around, how Johnny made Mark feel less alone, less unanchored, growing up in this strange, strange world of theirs. It follows him after splashing his face with water, trails behind him like a specter as the reality of Johnny saying his last goodbyes, hugging the remainder of the Rookies, and really sinks in.

Mark walks directly into Johnny's outstretched arms, frowning into the material of Johnny's shirt, before Johnny hugs him tight, and says, "You're gonna shine so brightly, Mark."

Mark never gets the words out. He watches as Johnny rolls his suitcase out of the dorms, his neck pillow hooked onto his elbow, and then there's silence once again. Doyoung's seated at the dining table now, and Mark settles himself across from him.

It's all so anticlimactic. It happens just like that: Johnny leaves, and then it's done. They don't even get the day to recover from this because there's another photoshoot in a few hours, but none of them look prepared for it.

He certainly doesn't expect Doyoung to hunch over with his face in his hands, his shoulder shaking a bit, leaning forward, very visibly crying. Taeyong is by his side in an instant, arms around Doyoung while Taeyong himself sniffles.

"Is it unfair that I'm mad at him?" Doyoung asks quietly.  
  
From behind them, Yuta sighs.

Taeyong chews on his lip before answering. "I think we're allowed to be, just in secret."

Mark rises quickly, pocketing his phone. Taeyong startles at the sudden movement.

"You okay, Mark? I know you guys were pretty close. Do you wanna talk ab—"

"I'm fine," Mark says, willing the tremble in his voice to steady. "I'll be in my room, hyung. We have to get ready for the shoot."

Mark doesn't wait for a response, just makes his way back through the doorway to grab his towel and get ready for the day. He takes the voices, throws them into a box, and tells himself _There's no point in thinking about them now_.

Never mind the fact that Johnny was one of the first friends he ever made in the company.

Never mind the fact that whenever Mark missed home the most, Johnny was the one he'd go to, his mouth reconfiguring itself to speak a language that reminded him of his childhood and the friends he left behind in Canada.

He finds himself thinking about the Book of Job as he steps into the shower, the hot spray matting his short fringe down and making it stick to his forehead. He wonders what he's done to deserve this, but then again, Job didn't do anything to deserve his lot in life. He's also pretty sure he's fucking up what the point of that story was, but he's so wrapped up in wondering why Johnny leaving hurts so much, and if he played a hand in it, that he can't be bothered to think about the Old Testament too much.

The point is: These things just happen.

He exhales, closing his eyes tight against the water. Box. Corner. Done.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🐱: ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT Here we are at Chapter 2. This little monster of a chapter was not ready to write, mainly because we were trying to get a lot of big scenes/plot points in there, since the set-up is important to us. 
> 
> I hit a road bump in writing and was not loving the stuff I was putting out but **Sneaky** was an absolute saviour with her comments and suggestions as to how the chapter should go, as well as fact-checking me as we went. 
> 
> I am so, so immensely proud of this chapter, which we managed to turn out in one week! I sincerely hope you like it. 
> 
> To **Sneaky** , thank you for your patience and for being just the fucking best bud through writing this!
> 
> To you, dear reader, whether you’re joining us now, or were here from the first chapter’s drop: thank you for joining us on this (sorta painful, a lot hopeful) journey of an au! ❤️ Enjoy!
> 
> 🐍: Thank you again to Tay for betaing, and to everyone for waiting patiently for us to wrangle chapter two! This one was pretty tough because so much had to unfold. Mon deserves a huge spotlight for toiling in the mines of this chapter and making sure we got through it. Thank you endlessly, friend. <3333

It doesn't take long before Taeyong's hawk eyes clue him in that Mark's been corresponding with someone. Mark knows he isn't being very subtle. He's never really been glued to his phone the way he has been lately, and he's aware, but he also didn't think that someone would call him out on it so soon. The members generally let him have his privacy.

When Taeyong pulls him aside in a lull between shoots, after the makeup noonas finish fiddling with their eye shadow and Taeyong's got his lids full of glitter, Mark kind of knows where's going with his, "Mark, can I talk to you really quick?"

Mark has approximately five seconds to figure a plan out, because he's seen Taeyong's lingering look on Mark's phone when Mark's sent off another photo of cars passing by to Johnny, or Mark's peace sign in the foreground with a Chicago Bulls poster in the background when they passed by a sneaker store (fuck, that one could not have been more obvious, he realizes). He's seen Taeyong watch him closely when Yuta tried to go for Mark's phone just to change songs over dinner. He's gotta fess up.

He's not even sure why he's being so protective of their correspondence. He does know that if there's anyone who might need to know about it, it's Taeyong.

Mark's, "I've been talking to Johnny," coincides with Taeyong's, "Sooooo," and Mark interrupts himself, and Taeyong's pretty eyes grow wide in shock before he schools his entire face into something more neutral. Mark isn't sure if he imagines the flash of hurt that he sees. It's gone so quickly. It could have been a fluke. Mark knows better, though.

"Oh," Taeyong replies. His voice is measured. Light but not natural the way Mark knows it to be. "Ah, well. I'm glad you're talking to him."

Guilt rests like a stone in Mark's belly, and he rushes to try to make excuses for someone he doesn't even know very well. "I'm sure that—"

"Mark-yah," Taeyong says, his smile small. "It's okay. Don't worry about me. I'm just happy that he seems to be okay?"

That was the main concern here, wasn't it? When Mark had asked Taeyong for Johnny's number in the first place?

And Mark has his answer; Johnny's fine, Johnny's _thriving_ even if he's still fielding the occasional call from sasaengs. Their text exchange started with awkward conversation (from Mark's end) and has drifted into daily check-ins: Johnny tells Mark about his lunch of pierogies at Veselka, the dog he sees when he's walking through 79th and Amsterdam, the meeting he has at four in the afternoon that he's been dreading all week.

Johnny's life is so much more normal than Mark's is, and it's a nice reprieve from nothing but schedules and meetings and rehearsal on Mark's end. Talking to Johnny feels like talking to his friends in Vancouver—or would be, if he didn't feel impossibly awkward keeping up with them and their adult, non-idol lives. Somehow, Mark doesn't feel awkward hearing about Johnny's mundanities, or intimidated by his busy social life, even if he can't relate to any of it.

"Yeah, he seems to be okay," Mark replies, and Taeyong's smile stretches wider before he claps Mark on the shoulder, and he feels like himself again.

"And _you're_ okay?" Taeyong follows up.

Mark thinks about the conversations about nothing that he and Johnny have had all week. A lot of it is inconsequential, musings about whatever topic Mark brings up and whatever Johnny likes to fixate on. He'd forgotten what it was like to just have a friend—low stakes, no pressure, not in the industry that Mark lives and breathes every waking hour.

"Yeah," Mark says, shoving his hands into the pockets of the too-tight leather pants they've put him in. "Yeah, hyung, I'm okay."

"All right," Taeyong says, pulling his hand away. "That's all I care about."

↩️↩️↩️

Jaehyun looks as nervous as Mark feels. He's honestly a little green, from where Mark's seated. They're backstage at Music Bank, preparing for their debut performance, and Mark's barely gotten any sleep since the MV dropped.

Taeyong and Ten are standing in a corner of the room running through their moves again. They won't be singing live for this broadcast, but they need to execute the performance well. The single's doing okay enough for a debut song, though Mark's well aware that the reception has been mixed to tentatively positive at best.

This is hardly their first time on a stage, but nothing really prepares you for Music Bank—or any other music show, for that matter. They're herded off onstage to a crowd that cheers for them, fans that they've built up and collected since their rookie performances, and Mark looks around at the stage set up for them, these metal diamonds and triangles in the background, the fog machines at the ready.

"Hello everyone," Taeyong says, garnering some of the loudest cheers. "I am Taeyong from NCT!"

"Everyone, thank you for being here, I am Ten from NCT," Ten says into the microphone, the lights from the generic glowsticks the only way Mark can see the faces of the crowd.

"Hello, thank you everyone for lining up so early to be here and support us," Mark says. "I am NCT Mark!"

Mark tries to not feel itchy in his skin. There's two layers of foundation on his face, and his fringe is plastered in place with hairspray and the white cap the stylists put him in. The cardigan barely does anything to stave off the cold of the air conditioning, while his faux-leather joggers—Mark isn't sure what his pants are, exactly—do too much of a good job trapping heat in.

They finish greeting the audience. He adjusts his in-ear, closes his eyes as he kneels in position, hears the crowd quiet down while the track starts up and the stage is bathed in red, the smoke machines going off so that they're swimming in a sea of fog just as Taeyong's voice registers on the speakers.

He's practiced this _7th Sense_ choreography so many times it's almost like he doesn't even have to try, but he's too far in his head to be comfortable with letting muscle memory take over. This is nothing like practicing in the rooms with the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. This is all him, they're on their own, no way to monitor their expressions or their placement relative to each other until the pre-taping is done. They don't get another shot; once the director is satisfied, that's it, no going again.

The "ooh"s of the crowd are muted as they perform, and Mark does his best to not fixate on that, not quite sure what kind of reception he'd expected for this dance, for this single, given that it's not exactly the jumpy sort of pop that other groups have debuted with.

Every line that leads up to his verse makes Mark more and more nervous about fucking up, but he steadies his breathing, allows his eyes to dart between the members onstage and the lights that glitter in the darkened crowd. He's secretly really fucking glad they're not singing live right now.

He's crouched on his knees, his arm extended out to hold onto Ten, before he steps up to the center and delivers his line. They don't have a fan chant yet, but he hears the audience follow his, "Uh," before the "long-ass ride," and it surprises him so much he's pretty sure he ends up smiling into the camera instead looking bad-ass the way he's supposed to be emulating.

He finishes his verse and falls back into the formation as Ten takes center stage, and he allows himself the tiniest sigh of relief. The song is almost over. Their first recording is almost done. Taeyong moves back for his next line, and before Mark realizes it, the take is done, the screaming from the crowd louder now that the music has ended and they stay in place for the cameras.

They did it.

Mark closes his eyes, takes a breath. Forgets that the last few weeks have been an entire blur, that their dorm and their small fandom is still recovering from the loss of someone that was so much larger than SM ever gave him credit for.

Jaehyun's hand on the small of Mark's back is a welcome one as Jaehyun says, "You did good, Mark," in English, and they're called back into positions for the second run-through and recording.

He's okay. They're okay. He's lucky to be on this team.

"Okay, places!" the DP calls out. "Music ready?"

They go again.

↪️↪️↪️

A lull in their schedules happens so abruptly, Mark forgets it's coming. He wraps up a photoshoot with KENZO, gets driven back to the dorms, and Manager Jong-hoon tells him that they're free for another week before he has to film a little variety show segment with Renjun and Haechan.

"Also, your contract renewal is coming up," Jong-hoon says, keeping his eyes on the road as they slow to a stop at the red light.

And there's that too.

Mark nods and thanks him for the reminder.

He's not entirely sure what to ask for this round, or what to expect. Taeil's in the army, Dream is between comebacks since Hyuck is too busy sweeping up adoration as an actor, and the ban between the subunits no longer exists, as exemplified by the project Jungwoo and Kun just wrapped up. There's still a lot that can be done with the NCT brand—Mark just doesn't quite know yet what role he's got to play in it. What he wants. And he's really unsure of what they're prepared to offer him.

"Am I the only one up for renewal soon?" Mark asks, picking on the hem of the T-shirt he has on.

"Mmmm," Jong-hoon says, frowning to recall. "Yeah, I think so. Yuta's still good for another year, and the others aren't until 2024, if I'm remembering things correctly."

"Oh, okay," Mark replies, nodding like a dog toy on a dashboard, and turning his attention back out onto the passing scenery, the lampposts blurring as they pass, the sun beginning to crawl below the horizon to sleep.

Jong-hoon pulls into the basement of their apartment complex and drops Mark off at the elevators on basement 3.

"I'll see you next week, Mark-ssi," Jong-hoon says, a small smile on his face and a little wave of his hand as Mark steps out. "Enjoy the peace and quiet."

"Thanks, hyung," Mark replies, hauling his backpack from the back seat. "Take care."

He's noticed their managers giving them more and more space lately, in lieu of having upped the security detail at their apartment. Mark's admittedly glad for it. They've lived under SM's thumb for long enough that the breathing room is welcome.

He shoves his earbuds in, the Bluetooth syncing up to his phone, and he's got his music playing just as he steps into the elevator, where a woman and her little girl are already there, two bags of groceries in either hand. He jabs the button to the tenth floor and bows, saying a silent hello to the little girl, who stares up at him with big, brown eyes. He smiles at her, and she turns away, hiding behind her mom's skirt. He taps on one of the earbuds, clears his throat, and says politely, "Do you need help with those, ma'am?"

The lady looks at him, surprised at the offer, before bashfully saying, "Ah, it's okay, thank you so much, young man."

He wonders if she knows him. He wonders if she knows he's one of the reasons why living in this building was so difficult for people a couple of years back, what with the noise and the fans and, well, _everything._

She gets off at the fourth floor, and the little girl turns back and waves at Mark, making him bow down a little so he can get eye level with her and say goodbye.

"Have a good evening," the lady says, and Mark manages to wish her the same just as the elevator doors close.

He exhales. His shoulders sag under the weight of his backpack. He taps on his earbud and Abel's voice filters in again until the elevator pings on the tenth floor. Not for the first time, he wonders what it feels like to not be on guard all the time, to not worry at every turn about their movements being watched.

Their apartment is at the end of a short hall, nondescript and not unlike the others, if you didn't know that there were two locks with the keypad lock, where most doors either had none, or just the one extra. He pulls his keys out and goes through the motions of unlocking the door until it clicks open, and he's home.

He toes his sneakers off and puts them up on the shoe rack, kept in order on Jungwoo's insistence. The dorm is quiet, save for music that filters through Jaehyun and Jungwoo's room, and the sound of water running in the kitchen sink.

"Hello, Mark-ssi," their dorm aunt says cheerily from the dining table. "Have you eaten?"

Mark's stomach rumbles as if on cue, which of course she hears.

"Get ready for dinner," she says. "I'll have the food on the table by the time you finish."

"Thank you, Auntie," Mark says. "I'll wash up and be right out."

Mark enters his room and throws his bag on the floor at the foot of his bed when he hears his message alert tone go off, opening the messages before getting a chance to see who the sender is, though he can already guess.

He stretches out on his bed, a pillow under his belly and his socked feet dangling off the edge when he holds his phone up and sees what's waiting for him. He stares at the photo sitting sandwiched between "morning!" and "fighting!" and then locks his phone before resting his forehead on the mattress, the image seared into his mind's eye now.

It's a selca of Johnny, clearly just about to head to the office. The sun's glare is bright in the photo, one eye shielded by the cup of iced Americano he's holding up with his other hand. His teeth are a perfect row of white, visible as he smiles, and Mark can't understand why his face is heating up, or why his heart's had an uptick in its regular pace.

He unlocks his phone again, and opens up the message, staring at Johnny's face. The sun has long given way to nighttime outside his window when Mark receives Johnny's selca, and it's too late now to pretend he hasn't seen it since he's sure that on Johnny's end, there are two little checkmarks below his last message to Mark.

Mark figures that a selca back makes the most sense, but he's not quite sure how he's supposed to go about this. He'd washed his makeup off before getting into the van, so his face is bare, and now that there isn't any concealer left, he can see the two pimples on his forehead that the makeup noonas worked hard to cover up. Not exactly the best look for him, but—well, Johnny isn't going to care. Mark isn't even sure why he's fussing about this.

It's Johnny. It's _just_ Johnny. Not someone he needs to impress.

He takes a few shots, and the lighting's all horrible. There are dark circles under his eyes and his stupid mustache is starting to show.

_You're being stupid. Just take a photo and send it._

He sends one of the more decent shots where he's throwing a peace sign, and replies with "fighting, hyung!" before throwing his phone to the foot of the bed and groaning.

It's strange how Mark feels like he's in a sort of in-between where on one hand, he feels like he can talk to Johnny about everything, and on the other hand, he still sometimes feels like the fifteen-year-old kid that had wanted so desperately to impress all his hyungs, to be worthy somehow of sharing the table with the likes of Minseok and Baekhyun, and yes, even Johnny.

It certainly doesn't help that an added layer in all of this is the horrible realization that he finds Johnny _handsome._ Mark's surrounded by beautiful people—his own group is made up of handsome men. He's pretty sure there's not a single person in SM Entertainment's roster at the moment that wouldn't be counted as good-looking. He's been tongue-tied by the likes of Yeri and Yoona-noona, been cuddled on camera by Jongin and Ten, so he's not quite sure why he's reacting this way to Johnny sending a selca, but that's where he is right now, worrying his bottom lip over the fact that he's been disarmed momentarily by a handsome face.

When Mark pushes himself off his bed with the intention of changing into his house clothes, he sees his phone light up with a message and scrambles to read the reply.

**[Johnny Suh 7:27 p.m.]  
** _> Haha thanks man_

There isn't exactly anything Mark can reply to that with, so he leaves it, knowing that Johnny's texting will become sporadic throughout the day anyway, while he's at work.

It's only much later, when Mark's halfway through his reheated samgyetang, that he realizes he already sort of knows Johnny's regular schedule. Certainly better than he knows his own on any given day.

Huh. Funny, that.

↩️↩️↩️

Idol life goes on, and it waits for no one.

Mark knew this, of course. He's been in this business grinding since he was a fucking pre-teen, but now that they've debuted, it's like SM has decided to take them every which way with the NCT brand. Even if there had been this massive purported algorithm for how the next comebacks are supposed to go, Mark's daily schedule unrolls before him like those screens on Dance Dance Revolution—he can't see the end, just the next couple of steps he's supposed to be taking.

They all learn how to adjust. Things begin to settle. He comes home to the dorms with his sweaty jackets and used T-shirts from practice, stomach rumbling from hunger, and slowly, over the months, Mark begins to forget that they used to have someone else living with them.

Mark doesn't hear from Johnny, so Mark tells himself to not think about Johnny. He practices his Korean with the members around him, tries his measly Japanese with Yuta, stretches his English once in a while with Jaehyun and Ten.

It isn't always easy, though.

Whatever Johnny thought people's impression was of him, he clearly hadn't expected the void he'd leave to feel so massive, though Mark doubts that any of them were prepared for the loss of Johnny's presence. He really did used to fill up a room.

"Oh yeah, see, it's really simple," Ten had said once, while they were out for dessert in a little cafe, huddled in a corner with Jaehyun and Yuta, showing them that he could tie a cherry stem with his tongue. "You just have to push it up against your teeth while you loop it. Johnny taught me."

Mark had seen it then, the hurt in Ten's expression before cutting himself off, looking away before composing himself, and then it was gone in a flash, like it never happened, and he moved on to a different topic.

Yuta is less avoidant about it, Hansol even more so, and Mark wonders if they can understand where Johnny had come from. Wonders if they've considered doing the same, but he refuses to give that more than a fleeting thought. He doesn't think he can handle anyone else leaving, not now, when things are finally starting to unfold.

Mark's had a pretty loose definition of "best friends" since leaving Vancouver. Even if he'd had his fair share of close friends back home, Mark has, in the years since moving to Seoul (and more recently, into the dorms), learned to adapt, to figure out how to manage his friendships, how to be the best version of himself, how to make SM's investment and his parents' trust in him worth it.

He finds friends in the boys that eventually become NCT Dream under his wing; he learns how to stop blushing, mostly, around the idols he'd grown up watching; he and Donghyuck become inseparable to the point that the fans go insane whenever they're in public together. Hyuck's the only person who understands the way Mark is different people with Dream and 127, and he had the privilege of growing up in front of everybody too.

But once in a while, Mark will remember that he used to have someone to look up to, someone whose language rooted him in where he came from, reminded him that he wasn't alone in this and that there was someone else who had the same shared experiences he'd had. Someone who didn't let him feel like so much of the foreigner he actually was.

They move dorms, packing up their things as they prepare for the debut of his fixed subunit, NCT 127. Mark spends a day just going through the clothes he'd stuffed in their cabinets, setting aside everything he's outgrown, keeping all the jackets that still fit him. He has some stuff he'd shoved into the back of it—knick-knacks he'd taken from Vancouver, some fan letters from their rookie days. He pulls the box out to sift through them, going over the words cheering him on, telling him that they're rooting for him and look forward to his successful debut.

At the bottom of the box, he finds the small seal plushie he'd tossed in there in a fit of annoyance.

Mark keeps the letters in a folder, throws out the old rubber keychain souvenirs he'd taken with him but have turned sticky over the years, and stuffs the seal into his backpack the day they move.

↪️↪️↪️

Mark's curled up on the couch, Yuta and Jaehyun on the floor next to him both absorbed in their game of _Mario Party_ now that they've purchased a console for the tenth floor. Jungwoo's seated on the other end of the couch, Mark's feet propped up on his lap while Jungwoo plays his current mobile game obsession. Mark's taken to keeping his phone on vibrate lately, which is suspicious of him, and he knows that he ought to tell the rest who he keeps hiding from his phone screen. It's not even a big deal! Except for some reason Mark doesn't seem to want to share. Not yet, anyway. It was weird enough confirming to Taeyong that he and Johnny were speaking.

There's a buzz in his hand, and he unlocks his phone to pull up the latest message.

**[Johnny Suh 10:03 p.m.]  
** _> Midway through dental appointment, Nickelback's Photograph just came on  
_ _> I'm suffering needlessly_

Mark has to keep his laughter in check as he types out a reply.

**[Me: 10:05 p.m.]  
** _> Wish I could feel sorry for you but I 100% love that song_

It takes fourteen minutes for Johnny to reply to him, during which Mark turns his attention back to the rousing, heated match between Yuta and Jaehyun while they trash talk each other loudly and push each other off to the side.

**[Johnny Suh 10:19 p.m.]  
** _> GOD. Figures you'd be a Nickelback stan_

**[Me: 10:20 p.m.]  
** _> I don't get the hate! I really don't_

**[Johnny Suh 10:22 p.m.]  
** _> You're Canadian you're obligated to like them along with every other Canadian who makes it big_

Mark bites down on the inside of his cheek when he sees the eye-roll sticker Johnny sends.

**[Me: 10:23 p.m.]  
** _> I do NOT like every Canadian artist excuse me_

**[Johnny Suh 10:23 p.m.]  
** _> I remember you dressing like the biebs_

**[Me: 10:23 p.m.]  
** _> I was THIRTEEN _

**[Johnny Suh 10:24 p.m.]  
** _> How do you feel about Drake?_

Mark fucking loves Drake.

**[Me: 10:24 p.m.]  
** _> I fucking love Drake_

**[Johnny Suh 10:24 p.m.]  
** _> I bet you listen to the weeknd for fun_

He does. It's Ten's fault, but he does.

**[Me: 10:25 p.m.]  
** _> Yeah and?_

**[Johnny Suh 10:25 p.m.]  
**_> _😂 _Nothing, nothing  
__> Anyway, I am done with the dentist for the foreseeable future_

**[Me: 10:26 p.m.]  
** _> Yeah? You've got your dentures already? That was quick_

Mark laughs to himself, and has to contain it even more when Johnny sends back a photo of his hand flipping him the bird. It's around lunch time in New York, nearing midnight here, but no one really cares about sticking to bedtimes when they've got the week off from any schedules. Taeyong's in his room playing _Overwatch 2_ , and Mark knows that Chenle and Hendery are both on Taeyong's team, so they'll be up late too.

Mark doesn't realize that Jungwoo's sidled up to him until it's too late, muttering, "Are you dating someone in secret?" while looking at Mark extremely seriously. Jungwoo isn't even teasing him. He looks legitimately concerned. "Are you dating someone in secret and you didn't tell me?"

There's hurt and worry in Jungwoo's voice, soft enough that Yuta and Jaehyun don't hear it, but it's there, loud and clear.

"What? Woo, no, I'm not dating anyone," Mark replies under his breath.

"Oh, okay," Jungwoo asks. "Sorry, I was just curious since you've been so secretive lately. I just thought, ah, I could remind you you're safe with us to talk about it."

Jungwoo's big on sharing his feelings—has been, ever since his hiatus from a couple years back. It's become a collective sort of thing for them, really, the need to be more open with each other so that nothing builds up and explodes. Mark's not super great at it yet, but the years have allowed him to ease up a little more than he remembers being when he was still fresh-faced and newly debuted. Back when he had to keep everything so tightly held together for his sake, and for the groups'.

Mark's not too happy either about being misread like this, so he takes a breath and steels himself before saying, "I'm just being kind of weird 'cause I've been talking to Johnny."

"Johnny-hyung?" Jungwoo says, shock on his face. "Oh!"

That certainly catches Yuta's attention.

"What?" Yuta says, hitting pause on their game so abruptly that Jaehyun yelps out a loud, "Hey!"

Yuta's twisting his body on the floor to look up at Mark, who is cradling his phone to his chest.

"What about Johnny-hyung?" Yuta asks. "Yo, are you talking to him?"

Mark really had no game plan for this.

"Uh, yeah," Mark replies, feeling his phone buzz twice against his palm. "We've been texting a bit."

 _A bit_ is an understatement at this point, since Mark's notoriously a really bad texter, and everyone knows it. That he's kept a daily correspondence, bookending his days with Johnny being the first and the last person he talks to, is certainly behavior that could be considered normal for him, though they don't quite know this detail. Not yet.

Yuta's interest is piqued almost immediately, and Jaehyun has to concede that their game isn't going to be starting up anytime soon, not when Jungwoo and Yuta are poised over Mark like excited meerkats.

"So, how is he? What does he do? Fuck, you guys talked about the—the issue, right?" Yuta asks, and it makes sense to Mark that Yuta would be this curious. He'd been the one to pull up Johnny's Instagram account and declare him hot.

Mark isn't entirely sure how much of Johnny's life he's allowed to divulge, but Johnny hasn't been too secretive, either, and he'd been fairly casual when they'd briefly talked about the real reason Mark had reached out in the first place. He figures he can at least discuss that.

"He's okay, he works in New York, a nice cushy nine-to-five job," Mark says, sitting up against the armrest of the couch better, bringing his knees closer to his chest. "He was surprised I messaged him, but he told me not to worry."

"And you guys just kept talking after that?" Jaehyun asks.

Mark doesn't even know how he and Johnny have gotten here, but, "Yeah, pretty much. He's… a lot the same, you know? Like how he used to tease us about stuff before?"

Jungwoo doesn't know Johnny as well as they do, but Johnny had been such a personality among them when they were trainees that even Jungwoo seems to remember that.

"Johnny was my favorite asshole," Yuta says. "He used to take the time to learn Japanese for me, you know? Back then when everything used to be so difficult. I got why he left. I almost quit like ten times myself."

Mark feels a jolt in his gut at this revelation, and he's sure it shows on his face, along with everyone else's, because all eyes turn to him before Yuta says, "What? It's true."

Mark feels something fray at his edges, the memory of both Johnny and Hansol leaving like an old scab being picked at.

"Seeing what it did when Johnny left was a huge reason I didn't," Yuta continues, punching Mark lightly on the thigh.

Mark lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, before he reaches out and wraps his hand around Yuta's wrist, squeezing once. "I'm glad you didn't go."

"I think that the thought crosses everyone's minds once in a while," Jungwoo says. "I mean, it did for me. I'm lucky you guys didn't want me to go."

Jaehyun hauls himself up from the floor and wedges himself between Jungwoo and the armrest, wrapping his arms around Jungwoo's arms and torso, pretend-kissing him and telling him, "You're stuck with us, Woo. Sorry."

It's a moment of levity for all of them as Jungwoo laughs out and tries to wriggle out of Jaehyun's chokehold. Yuta knocks his knuckles against Mark's knee.

"Hey," Yuta says. "I think it's cool you guys are talking. Nice to have a friend who gets it."

Mark feels a tension from his shoulders slip down his spine and melt away. Yuta would understand it—wanting to leave, wanting to have a friend who reminds him of where he came from. Yuta's got his set of friends that he talks to in a language that Mark only knows passably for their ments and for when they travel to Japan and he wants to ask where the toilet is or how much the food costs.

He'd forgotten how powerful language could be, how apart from the world tours and interviews Mark's had to speak in English for, there really hasn't been much reason for him to pull it out until he'd started talking to Johnny again. He speaks it with his parents, sometimes, and with Ten, who frequently tells Mark he's the only reason Ten hasn't lost English entirely. But everyday use and fluency have drifted away from him, and most of his dreams are in Korean now.

"Thanks, hyung," Mark replies. "Yeah, you're right."

↩️↩️↩️

She tells Mark her name is Yeona, a 99-liner rookie he meets backstage at Inkigayo, from a group under Play M, and she's cute and pretty and has long brown hair that falls down her back in soft waves.

Mark can barely get three words out, but she gives him her number and whispers that she hopes he'll text her. He's not entirely sure how to even approach this. He just knows that a pretty girl wants to talk to him, and he's seventeen and has no idea how to even start a conversation properly.

They're not supposed to date, and Mark's too early in his career to even consider it, but God does it feel nice to catch someone's eye, especially when it's someone who's caught his. In the middle of gearing up for _Cherry Bomb_ , Mark messages her, and she flirts back, but he's completely lost at sea. He doesn't even know if any of his other members have tried dating since debut. But they had more time to learn the ropes _before_ debut anyway, at least the ones older than Mark. He went on one real date as a trainee, back when he was fifteen.

He doesn't know what he's doing, and he certainly can't ask the Dreamies for help, considering that they're all younger than him and probably ten times as useless. It doesn't escape his attention that the one person he would have been comfortable asking for any sort of advice from on this has been gone a year, but his mind glosses over that when he fixes it on the matter of trying to figure out how he can keep this conversation going with Yeona.

He ends up nervously asking his roommates when both Jaehyun and Yuta happen to be in the rooms, because he might as well.

"Hyung," Mark asks, turning over in bed to face Jaehyun who's reading a novel on his bed. Yuta's in the middle of watching anime on his laptop but pulls his earphones out anyway.

"Are you talking to me or to Jaehyun?" Yuta asks, holding his earphones in one hand.

"Uh, both?" Mark says, and his face is burning but Yeona's just texted him about watching movies and Mark hasn't exactly been caught up, so he needs to pretend he's watched the movies she's talking about. "I need advice about… a girl."

"Ohoho," Yuta says, sitting up in his bed and putting his laptop off to the side. "Who is she? Is she cute? Do we know her?"

"Kang Yeona, she's a rookie from the group Daily," Mark says, phone on his chest, thinking about her pretty smile. "She talks about all these movies I've never even heard of, and she listens to more Western music than I do."

"So watch the movies she likes, dude," Jaehyun deadpans. "Listen to her favorite artists."

It seems like really simple advice, but also doesn't really seem to help him further his budding romance agenda.

"How do you woo a girl?" Mark wails.

"Literally none of us have held down a long-term relationship, have lived with just each other for years, and you're asking us for advice on girls," Yuta laughs, ticking off every point with his fingers.

"I think girls just like it when you ask them stuff about themselves?" Jaehyun supplies. "Or like you can watch her fancams and tell her how nice her performance was. Or! You love Drake, right? Tell her your thoughts on _Views_."

This is getting nowhere. Yuta's right. They're all useless. It's futile, anyway, trying to date. They've only been texting a while, but Mark's in over his head, and he has NCT Dream promotions coming up. Maybe it really is for the best that he's shit at this dating thing.

He sighs, swipes his phone up to the messages, and replies to Yeona with, "Oh yeah, I love Lee Doyun's movies!" before pulling up Naver and searching "Lee Doyun movies."

↪️↪️↪️

Mark wore contacts on the belief that his glasses make him seem younger, but now, in this frigid inner sanctum of SM, sitting at a conference table across from a team of lawyers, managers, and the odd board member, all of whom definitely saw Mark grow up (and his ten thousand unfortunate hairstyles), he wishes he'd gone for comfort instead. He feels like he's choking from the tight collar of his dress shirt, and his mom keeps giving him sidelong looks that say she's aware of how miserable he is.

He wonders if bringing his eomma and appa to a contract negotiation is screaming _little kid_ to them, but it's the only way he's ever done this, with his parents at his side and their encouragement in his ear, and it's too late to send them out now. Maybe next time he'll come without them, Mark thinks darkly. When he's nearing thirty.

"Can you run that by me one more time?" Mark asks, licking his lips and then trying to fill his dry, anxious mouth with ice water. His own lawyer, who Mark likes okay as lawyers go but who was definitely recommended to him by SM, the very company they're trying to negotiate with, refills his glass when Mark chugs half of it. "Not—the sponsorships," he says, when the assistant flips to that page. "The, uh, Taeyong contingency plan?"

"Ah, yes." The shuffle of papers as everyone, including Mark's parents, flip back to the appropriate page. They've done their proposal up fancy this year, like a marketing deck but printed on paper so expensive and crisp Mark's already nursing a papercut.

Right there, on page three, it says the date of Taeyong's enlistment and the range of his projected service.

He knew Taeyong had to enlist, and that, with the one- to two-year staggering SM planned on for the service-eligible members, the clock was ticking. But Yong hadn't said a word to Mark about it, not when they spent time together one-on-one, and he didn't even let him know via text that morning, when Mark sent a message to the group chat that he was wading in with the sharks to negotiate his contract. He sent a heart sticker and a "fighting!"

Fuck, even Johnny was more helpful in comparison, reminding Mark to make a list of his ideas and to run them by his lawyer first—and chiding Mark for not having switched to someone with no ties to the company.

Mark would have appreciated a head's up. Seeing Yong's name and the date of his upcoming enlistment—in five months, almost exactly—in black and white felt like the entire pitcher of ice water on the table was dumped over his head. He barely followed along with the rest of the presentation, still stuck like a hamster in a wheel at _Taeyong leaving_. And soon.

What's worse is the next item: _"Lee Mark serves as NCT 127's interim leader_ _for the duration of Lee Taeyong's military service."_

Mark's never wanted this a day in his life. Of course he wants to be seen as something other than the teenager who debuted with a voice not quite dropped and who darted around on hoverboards. Between SuperM—unofficially dead in the water, since Taemin-hyung and Baekhyun-hyung are eager to put all their focus into being solo artists—and his stint as an Inkigayo host last year, he's got that, finally. But being seen as an adult and being seen as a leader are two very different things. They want him to fill Taeyong's shoes? His custom, creative, $3,000 shoes? Hell no. Mark's shoulders are at his ears just considering how out of his depth he would be.

"When Taeil returns to the group, there will be a perfect chance to launch a comeback with you at the head of 127," a manager says. "No word yet on a tour, that depends on what the other members agree to, but at least an EP."

The assistant takes over. "At the conclusion of the comeback, you'd gear up for your solo project." She's flipping forward through pages quickly, almost like she's excited. Probably a lot of their confidence rests on the generous consolation prize they saw fit to offer: a solo. A fucking solo. Potentially a whole album, depending on how the comeback goes.

"When Taeyong finishes his service, he'll step back into the leader role, and likely the next member would enlist or have already done so." She checks a separate sheet of paper, this one not bundled in the sleek black folder with the proposal. "Doyoung, that is."

"Right, that all—makes sense," Mark says, even though it does not, and he hates the idea of doing _anything_ as 127 for the two years their leader will be gone. They've already felt like they were limping along since Taeil left. Losing Taeyong will be much worse. How can they possibly think Mark is equipped to steer this ship? "I guess I just have some issues—some questions about the logistics."

Mark's attorney glances down at him, and Mark raises a hand for him to wait. He's got this part, at least; he can ask questions without having to huddle up. "And so the solo project, is it contingent on my being the leader? If I say no, the solo's not on the table?"

To their credit, no one on the other end of the table reacts. They don't even exchange glances.

The board member, the most seniority Mark's deserving of, apparently, since Lee Soo-man himself is off playing golf or whatever occupies his time, is the one to speak. "The solo is contingent on your becoming interim leader, yes. I'm afraid that's non-negotiable. Some of the brand endorsements are also based on your taking over the role."

Like Mark cares about endorsements. "Can I not pick, like, a co-leader?" Yuta comes to mind, or Jaehyun, but Yuta already gets impatient at having to do too much PR; he's good at it when he does it, but it would be a monumental ask. Plus, there's the language barrier; Yuta already stresses enough about forgetting words. Jaehyun would be fluent, though; way more fluent than Mark. "Is that an option?"

"The less restructuring of the band, the better—"

Mark surprises himself by speaking up before the board member is even finished denying him. "Okay, I get that, but it's going to take two people to even begin to fill his shoes."

They haven't even mentioned money yet, though Mark peeked at the numbers at the end of the proposal. They looked okay. Probably his semi-loyal lawyer could get him a better cut overall, or a bigger chunk of merchandise, but Mark cares about that way less than he does the ultimatum of doing something he'd hate for the thing he wants most.

"The solo project is an acknowledgment of everything you've accomplished here," the board member says. "But frankly, we would need to work on raising your profile, and acting as leader—ah, _alone_ —is the best solution for that. As you can see, we've already sourced and approved producers for this potential solo record. It's an impressive list of folks who want to work with you, Mark-ssi."

"Yeah, and I don't suppose I get to bring in producers of my own? Not already on this list?" Mark tugs at the sheet of paper with the names in question. It's not a bad list, including some people he's worked with and vibed with before, but it's clear as day that they want a generic rap album from him, heavy on features. He can picture himself being a sad, PG-rated Jay Park while they drag some charitable Red Velvet noona in for the chorus. There's no consideration for the sort of music Mark would want to make under his own name.

The question does get them to exchange looks, this time; the board member looks at the lawyer, who says nothing and just makes a checkmark on his paper, it looks like. Mark wonders what they expected when they prepared for this meeting. Most likely his enthusiastic acceptance. Maybe tears of gratitude. "That would be up for discussion," the board member says eventually.

Mark drums his fingers on the table. So no real control over his solo either, at least not without a fight. This supposed deal is getting sourer by the second, and Mark doesn't know what to do, short of saying no on the spot and putting up with his lawyer's wrath. Said lawyer, meanwhile, leans in and says they need to start talking about money, but Mark, right now, could not care less about how much more he'll have to put in savings.

"I need time," he whispers back. He almost tells him he doesn't care about the money, they can worry about it later, but something tells him to hold back—maybe the memory of Johnny's instructions to get a team without any ties to SM. "This isn't what I want. I need time."

"Mark-ssi, is this something you can do today, or should we reschedule for later in the month?"

"Later," Mark says, barely voiced. He can't imagine figuring this out in a few hours. "I need to, uh, think."

Mark feels his mom squeeze his hand. The other side of the table looks passive, but Mark thinks he reads something like wariness in their eyes now.

"Mr. Lee would like to take some time to think about the proposed terms," his lawyer announces, and Mark watches closely, but he sees nothing but mild surprise.

"Of course," the assistant, the most approachable one, says with a warm smile. "Just please remember that the contract lapses at the beginning of next month. We want things well in hand by then, for the benefit of everyone."

"Certainly," Mark's lawyer says, and his father stands from the table, followed by Mark's mom. His lawyer's bow is showy. "We'll be in touch."

As they're let out of the conference room, Mark's mom hurries to keep step with him, leaning in close in case he wants to talk. No one but staff and high-ranking clients are allowed up this high in the building or SM's metaphorical food chain, so there's no worry of being photographed, but Mark still waits until they're in the elevator to say anything.

He gives his lawyer, in his tailored suit and hair gelled to gleaming, a look that his mother catches.

"I have a lot of things to think about," he says.

↩️↩️↩️

The money drops into his account on a day Mark would never expect—the stipend SM gives all the trainees, and debuters, hits twice a month on Wednesdays. Checking his bank account at one a.m. on a Monday should not lead to seeing a deposit of—and Mark squints in disbelief—eleven million won? What the fuck?

He first thinks of texting his manager and asking if there's been some kind of accounting mistake, and he _does_ text his mom. He doesn't expect her to answer, given that it's one in the morning, but Appa says she's lonely without him in the house and stays up late watching TV or cleaning some nights. Mark should really stay over for a weekend soon.

**[Eomma 1:07 a.m.]  
** _> Honey it's probably your first real paycheque  
_ _> Remember the attorney said your debt would be paid off soon?_

Mark's trainee debt not hanging over his head like a piano in a cartoon is hard to conceptualize, especially blearily late at night and after an exhausting day of filming and travel. He kind of thought he'd be paying it off for years. But apparently, releasing singles with three different bands was the key to success. Literally.

**[Me 1:09 a.m.]  
** _> OMG really?? Wow  
_ _> Do we know if it's going to be weekly or monthly or what  
_ _> I'm putting all of this in savings btw  
_ _> Too much money for me!! Haha_

**[Eomma 1:10 a.m.]  
**_> Bi-monthly for now, on a month-long delay for processing  
__> I knew you were dozing in that meeting, Minhyung _🙄

 **[Me 1:11 a.m.]  
**_> Noooo haha I was awake! _🙈 _It was a lot of information  
__> Uh and please tell me if you and dad are good or if you need anything. Like a vacation??  
__> Or just whatever_

That unleashes his mother yelling at him via text, and ultimately he promises her he won't spend his money on them—it's a lie, and Mark crosses his fingers telling it, because his parents are totally getting an all-expenses-paid trip somewhere in the near future. They deserve it. They uprooted their whole lives for him, moved him and his brother to Seoul, rented a house they could barely afford, all for Mark's dream, and now he doesn't have to hit them up for _anything_.

Ten thousand dollars isn't that much money, not knowing the sort of figures he hears whispered in the halls about what top idols make, but it's way more than Mark's ever had at once. And it's just the beginning.

↪️↪️↪️

Mark texts Taeyong after getting back to the dorms from a highly unproductive and awkward lunch with his parents, where they kept trying to ask what it is he _does_ want out of his updated contract and Mark failed to come up with anything more tangible than "not 127's leader, thanks!!" Taeyong must be expecting him, because he answers so quickly Mark's almost taken aback.

**[Taeyong 2:44 p.m.]  
** _> I can meet you on your floor or you can come here_

**[Me 2:46 p.m.]  
** _> Your floor's probably better for privacy_

Taeyong sends him an affirmative kaomoji, and Mark climbs into the elevator after peeling off his stiff business clothes and changing into his usual oversized T-shirt and sweatpants. He's quiet from having time to think, in the car on the way back home, and from digesting a big meal his parents refused to let him pay for.

When he pops into the fifth floor living area, having snagged his manager's keycard, it could be any other night Mark comes up to mess around with beats in Taeyong's room or to watch a movie with Hyuck. It's not, though.

Mark's on edge, bursting with questions and a fair amount of indignation. He went into that meeting totally unprepared, and some of that is on him for being a procrastinator, or being too busy to take time to look at the big picture of the company and his career, but Taeyong could have told him he had an enlistment date at literally any time.

Not that he's able to stay for-real mad at Taeyong; it's a foregone conclusion that whatever resentment Mark has now will die down soon. For this moment, though, he's processing, and he feels like a dark rain cloud when he finds his hyung in the kitchen reheating soup. Taeyong offers Mark a portion, of course.

"No, thanks, I ate with my folks."

Taeyong nods and blows over the top of his bowl. "Let's go to my room," he says, and grabs a soup spoon and one of those juices Hyuck likes.

Mark follows at his heels, and he takes up his usual place on Taeyong's bed when Taeyong sits at his desk. Taeyong slurps down some of the hot soup and has a few sips of juice while Mark thinks of what to say.

"So," Mark says, picking at the hem of one of his sweatpant legs, "you're enlisting in five months."

Taeyong nods and blows on his soup again. He looks wary, like Mark kinda expected, but also tired and flat. "Yeah, they finally picked a date." He gives Mark an uncomfortable, sad smile. "I'm sorry, Mark-yah."

"So you knew they were gonna make me take your spot?"

Taeyong swallows his mouthful quickly, eyes widening. "No, I— I know you're a good choice, you could do it, but I also know you don't want to."

"Yeah," Mark says, and snaps off the thread he's been toying with. "You didn't think to warn me, though, hyung? Like, is this payback for the Johnny thing? I didn't tell you, you didn't tell me when you knew I—"

"No, no, no," Taeyong says in a hurry, switching to English to get his point across. "Mark, I found out two days ago. I've been dealing with it." He maneuvers his chair close enough to the bed to touch Mark's ankle, a fleeting reassurance. "I don't mind about Johnny-hyung, I told you. It wasn't that. I just knew if I opened my mouth, I'd cry all over you, and you hate that."

"Okay, but… that's no reason not to tell me! I can deal with you crying on me. I can't deal with finding out you're leaving us from some company suit."

Taeyong winces, air hissing through his teeth as he considers that. "I didn't think, I'm sorry." He pats Mark again, regretfully, and steers himself back to the desk.

Taeyong has occasional moments of selfishness like the rest of them. Mark thinks he can let him have this one, especially since Taeyong seems about as excited by the prospect of leaving 127 as Mark is. "It's all right, hyung." Mark blows out a frustrated breath. "They offered me a solo in exchange for taking over leader duties," he says, unable to stop himself from fixating, even though Yong deserves to talk too.

Taeyong's recently groomed eyebrows go up. "An album?"

"Sounds like. At least an EP. They said I do the comeback, then the solo. And they gave me a list of pre-approved producers and writers."

Taeyong's expression turns irritated. He knows more than anyone in the company, except maybe Hyuck, what Mark wants to aim for. What he thinks the general shape of his career should be, as a solo artist. The way he wants to get into experimental stuff, blending genres, playing his guitar. Ten affectionately calls out his Frank Ocean thing, but it's the closest approximation to what Mark can see himself doing long-term. He's been spitting rap lines into a studio mic for years now; he thinks he's earned the opportunity to explore new ground. "I hope you told them to fuck off," Taeyong says.

"I told them I need time. I have no idea what I'm gonna do, dude."

"You don't have to take the leader role if you don't want it," Taeyong says, slipping lightning-fast from scowly to earnest. "Someone else can do it, or you can share duties."

Mark's smile is wry, and he chuckles bitterly. "Yeah, they already said no to co-leaders."

Taeyong chews his lower lip, thoughtful. He eats more of his soup. When an idea strikes him, he slams the bowl down on his desk so hard, some of the liquid spills out. Taeyong tsks at himself but uses the opportunity to clean his entire desk surface, including his gaming keyboard and mouse, with an antibacterial wipe. "If I go in there and make noise, they might listen. We can put up a united front."

"Sure," Mark says. He knows the truth of SM's demands and how they all end up capitulating to them, sooner or later. When one of them tries to take the hard road, the resistant option, they usually end up regretting it. Mark can say no to the leader role, and to the solo, and they'll bench him so thoroughly and masterfully that he won't even notice until he realizes all his members have endorsements, thriving rankings, and side projects, and Mark's trending only because he made a stupid face again. "But I've gotta… I need to figure out what I want first."

"You want the solo, yes?" Taeyong says. "Make that your goal, and figure out what you'll give them in return for it."

"They're not giving me the solo unless I'm the leader, no matter what else I give up. We both know it, hyung."

"You're always so pessimistic," Taeyong scolds, trying to tease him out of the seriousness he's stewing in. "You haven't even tried yet."

"Maybe I would have tried if I hadn't been slapped in the face with you leaving," Mark snaps. He winces the next second and mutters a "Sorry" he does mean, for the most part. "Ah, I'm still—" He gestures to his head, filled with impulsive ideas and too much feeling sorry for himself. "I think I'm gonna need a few days."

"You and me both," Taeyong says with a wavering little smile.

Mark needs a few days to adjust to the idea of 127 without Taeyong, holidays without Taeyong, the dorms empty of Taeyong. Shit, and he can't even tell anyone about it, because right now, he's the only person who knows outside of Taeyong himself.

"You telling the members soon?" Mark asks. "I don't think anyone else is going to find out like I did, but now that you know, you should tell them."

"Of course I'll tell them. I need to tell my parents first, though." Taeyong looks down at his slick, lemon-scented, and very clean desk and hunches his shoulders. "I guess I'll go visit them this weekend."

Now Mark feels like rancid garbage. He _knows_ Taeyong is terrified of leaving; they've talked about it on multiple occasions. Mark's intimately aware Taeyong worries people in his unit won't like him, will treat him like a spoiled idol, and that the fans will forget about him and prefer whoever fills his spot.

Mark also knows Taeyong really will move heaven and earth for him to try to get SM to choose someone else as the interim leader. He came in here, falsely accused Taeyong of being petty because of the Johnny thing, unloaded all his crap on him, and implied he wasn't going to tell the members. God, Mark's the worst sometimes.

"Hey, uh," Mark says, and clears his throat. "I think today might require, uh, medicinal hugging."

He looks up like Mark shocked him, and he gets such a wholesome expression of affection and excitement on his face, Mark's only barely blushing. It's dumb to be nervous; he's hugged Taeyong a thousand times, even if since debut it's mostly been a situation of _being_ hugged versus doing the hugging. Taeyong likes it, and Taeyong deserves a hug, and maybe, secretly, Mark does too.

Taeyong stands so forcefully his chair bangs into his desk, and Mark braces himself for the flailing pile of limbs about to take a leap onto the too-small bed.

↩️↩️↩️

"SM really struck gold with you, Mark Lee," Ten says as Mark pants in front of him, hunched over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

"What?" Mark asks, not knowing what leads Ten to make this pronouncement.

"NCT U, 127, and Dream," Ten says, sitting up on the couch and crossing his legs under him. "We're all good here, but you're special."

Mark doesn't know how to accept this sort of praise, so he balks, hiding his face beneath his cap and mumbling a sort of, "Thanks, Ten-hyung," under his breath.

"Come here, evil twin," Ten says, reaching an arm out. Mark's shirt is drenched. They'll be filming the _Fire Truck_ dance practice tomorrow in this very room, the wood panels stretching out shiny in front of them. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm good, hyung," Mark says, now that his breathing's caught up with him. "It's a lot of work, but it's work that I like."

Ten smiles at him fondly. "Ah, the trappings of youth."

"You're not that old, come on, man," Mark laughs. The older members do this too, joke about their age, especially in relation to him and Haechan. They joke about bad knees and needing salonpas and everything, but Mark doesn't feel it. His body is fine, it's keeping up with everything he (read: the company) puts it through.

"I know, but God, to be spry like you," Ten teases. "They've got you writing music too, yeah?"

"Yeah, just a couple of lines here and there," Mark says, pulling his feet up to the seat and resting his arms over his knees.

Ten reaches out to rest his hand on Mark's head, the entire palm on there while he shakes Mark's skull a little, in a sign of affection.

"I don't want you burning out, okay?" Ten says. "Much too bright to burn out so young."

It reminds Mark of something someone had said to him, but he can't place who, or when.

"Okay, hyung," Mark says. "I'll do my best not to."

↪️↪️↪️

**[Johnny Suh 3:02 p.m.]  
** _> How did the contract thing go?  
_ _> HMU if you need a lawyer recommendation, btw  
_ _> The guy who helped us negotiate my trainee debt was incredible, my mom probably still has his number floating around somewhere_

Mark types and deletes the beginning of a bunch of variations on the same theme. Each time, it's a wall of text and he's only just scratched the surface. Mark erases his latest attempt and sighs.

**[Me: 4:05 p.m.]  
** _> Yo, its a mess and a half  
_ _> Kinda too much to get across over text?_

Johnny's reply is quick, and Mark snorts in disbelief. It's super late in New York, but it is Saturday there, and Johnny likes to keep odd hours. He works out at his twenty-four-hour apartment gym as late (or as early) as five a.m. sometimes, and he sends Mark snaps of the weird shit on the gym TV, mostly local cable-access programming.

**[Johnny Suh 4:06 p.m.]  
** _> Would FaceTime work better?  
_ _> No pressure though_

That stalls Mark out for a second, and his heart rate shoots up. Does he want to talk to Johnny? With the texts, and even the voice memos that Johnny sent and Mark never really returned, too aware of who in the dorm might overhear him, Mark could keep some distance between Johnny of the past and Johnny of the present. He won't have much to hide behind, or time to think about what he says, if they're in a call.

**[Me 4:07 p.m.]  
** _> You know my ass doesn't have an iPhone  
_ _> But yeah I'll call you_

He fumbles his phone nearly onto his face while trying to navigate to dialing Johnny. Mark finds himself fixing his bangs nervously, even though there's no picture, just voice.

Johnny picks up after one ring, and Mark hears him rustling the phone around. He must be in bed.

"Mark?" Johnny says, and the sound of his voice makes Mark tense. He's heard snippets of it over the last few weeks, voice memos Johnny sends when he's too distracted to type, or walking between his station and his apartment. But those felt different; they weren't live. They weren't Mark's name in Johnny's voice, a sound Mark hasn't heard in years.

"Yeah, hi, it's me."

He sits in silence for a second, ultra aware of how foolish he sounded, the first thing he's said to Johnny in years a _yeah, hi_. But then Johnny chuckles low into the phone.

"Wow, holy shit, it's really you, huh? Mark Lee."

"Johnny Suh," Mark says, in the same teasing tone as Johnny. He feels himself smiling so wide his cheeks ache.

He didn't know what he expected, but hearing Johnny is a rush of relief and nervousness and excitement that Mark hasn't felt in a long, long time. It's complicated, of course, but it's good.

"So tell me about your meeting," Johnny says, "while I reel over how deep your voice is now, what the fuck?"

"Yo, I'm twenty-four—twenty-three," Mark corrects. "Not my fault you have issues with the concept of time."

Johnny groans over the line. "Don't remind me how old I've gotten. You're going to give me a midlife crisis." He pauses. "God, you _drink_ now, don't you?"

"Yeah, but to, like, no one's surprise, I'm a total lightweight."

"At least one thing is as it should be," Johnny says faux-seriously, and then snickers at Mark's long-suffering sigh.

Fuck. It feels like they picked up where they left off, like there isn't distance and silence lasting years between them. Mark's a different person entirely compared to who he was when Johnny left, on the precipice of debut and adulthood. Johnny's different too, and Mark's had time to wonder since his coming out how much Mark's memory of him might be a falsehood, incomplete.

Mark changes the subject before he can get stuck in the ruts of memory and doubt. He called Johnny for a reason, after all. "I think I'm gonna need that lawyer's number," he says, and commences retelling his whole afternoon, from the meeting and its contract stipulations to Taeyong's offer to back him up.

Johnny is silent for the most part, adding in little noises of acknowledgment or reaction to let Mark know he's listening. When Mark's done, he takes a second to think, and his sigh is heavy. "That's a lot, man. First things first, I'll text my mom to get you that lawyer's number. You really need to make sure your interests are protected, that you have someone willing to go to bat for you, especially if they're giving you ultimatums."

"Yeah," Mark agrees. "I've realized that."

"Okay, good. You need someone willing to antagonize SM, and I can say from experience this guy is good at that," Johnny says, sounding wry.

It occurs to Mark he still has no idea how Johnny cut ties with SM after years of training on their dime. Mark's trainee debt is long since paid off, in no small part thanks to all his writing credits, but Johnny wouldn't have had any opportunity to earn against his debt, except maybe the Rookie shows. Now most of what Mark pays the company is for his dorm—in the heart of Cheongdam-dong, which means it isn't exactly chump change—and a chunk of his transport.

"Was it really bad?" Mark asks. "Like, I never thought about the money side of things, but I know how cheap the company is."

"Well, my parents had to take out a second mortgage on their house," Johnny says, in a tone of forced casualness that Mark isn't even meant to believe. "It wasn't great. But the lawyer found some small accounting mistakes, and that didn't look good for them, so we got a little negotiation room."

"That's good, at least," Mark says, picturing Johnny's parents faced with an enormous bill out of nowhere. Or maybe not out of nowhere; if anyone knew Johnny's doubts back then, it would have been his eomma. "The contract and everything aside, like, Taeyong's really going to enlist in five months. Uh, please don't tell anyone that," Mark says, in a sudden panic of realizing how much he unloaded on Johnny, and how unused he is to doing that. "Like, it's top secret. Even the members don't know."

"I'm not going to say anything," Johnny promises, sounding grave.

Mark exhales. "Right." He wonders how he got here, spilling secrets to Johnny Suh. "So, uh, even if they don't force me to take over as leader, I honestly have no idea how this band is going to manage without him."

Though Johnny left before he saw Taeyong's transformation from a shy, hounded weirdo into an affectionate, responsible mother hen, albeit still shy and absolutely weird, Mark's sure he knows how central Yong is to everyone.

"It will probably be a shaky few years," Johnny acknowledges. "But you guys still have each other, and I'm sure Doyoung'll set up a timesheet for everyone to come to his room for therapy."

Johnny's joking, but it's not too far from what Mark would reasonably expect. Oh, man, Mark realizes Doyoung's possibly going to be weird about Mark being offered the leader spot, even if Doyoung's easily overwhelmed and doesn't actually want that much responsibility.

"He'll have to do it in the common areas," Mark says distractedly. "Haechannie won't stand for being locked out of his room for that long."

"Wait, Dongyoung and _Hyuck_ are roommates?"

"Oh my God, yeah, and they're both too stubborn to call it quits and change with someone."

Truthfully, aside from the nights when Doyoung yells at Hyuck for keeping him up, Mark thinks they enjoy their bickering, that it's for show; they have fun together, making popcorn and watching movies on Doyoung's projector. But Mark still wouldn't trade and room with either of them for the whole world.

"That's wild, man. Who do you room with?" Johnny asks.

"Uh, no one? Well, technically one of the managers"—a manager Johnny doesn't even _know_ , wow—"but he's here overnight, like, once a week at most."

The fact that Mark has to fill Johnny in on these details like he's a stranger makes him feel odd. It's stuff all the fans know too, to the point where Mark takes it at a given that folks know the ins and outs of his life in the dorms. They did another 24-hour vlog relay before Taeil left and basically shattered the fandom with the footage of Doyoung in bed, swimming in his pajamas, throwing a pillow at Hyuck and whining over being kept up late.

But of course Johnny doesn't watch their YouTube videos. Why would he?

"Lucky you, all that privacy." Johnny hums. "I know Yongie has a room to himself too."

"Not for too much longer," Mark says, and his heart trips into his throat thinking of _those_ logistics. Does someone take over Taeyong's room while he's gone? Is it going to stand totally empty like Taeil's? "Aigoo, sorry I'm a bummer, dude. I've just got a lot on my mind lately."

"Understandable," Johnny says. "You're not a bummer. I'm happy to listen, and I'm happy to help as much as I can, even if it's just getting you a phone number."

"No, like, the fact that I know someone who's been in a tough spot with SM, the fact that it's you, you get the whole group dynamic—" Mark babbles long enough that he makes a mistake: Johnny _doesn't_ know the group dynamic. He doesn't know Jungwoo well at all, for one, but the group dynamic Johnny was used to involved Ten, and Hansol, and Mark and Hyuck being squeaky-voiced dongsaengs and not equal members. He's a stranger to 127's particular brand of chaos. "Well, uh, it's a relief to talk to someone who gets it, more or less, but isn't in the middle of it, you know?" Mark laughs, sounding more exhausted than he meant to, and rubs over his forehead. "Talking to you makes me feel normal, almost. I mean, shit, not that—"

"Mark, I get it, don't worry about it. I remember what it was like to talk to friends back home in the States."

That's reassuring, though it does bring with it a flurry of memories Mark has done his best to leave in the past: Johnny, keeping up with his high school friends back in Chicago while Mark drifted further and further from the handful of people he knew from elementary and middle school in Canada. The prickles of jealousy that not only could not Mark not compete with Taeyong and Yuta and Ten for Johnny's attention, always relegated to Johnny's tag-along, but he couldn't even compete with people an ocean away.

It's funny to be on the other side of that; he's kept the band in the dark while he turns to Johnny for perspective.

"I'm not just talking to you to complain about my job," Mark clarifies. "I can talk about other shit, I swear. Um, what are you listening to lately?"

"I'll send you my Spotify playlist," and Mark doesn't have the heart to tell him he's never used Spotify in his life. "But honestly, it sounds like it's good you have someone to talk to about what's going on," Johnny says. "I'm happy to be that guy. And hey, tell Taeyong I said to take it easy."

"Tell him yourself, dude," Mark says, a little struck. "I don't know what your whole thing is with Yong, but it's kinda rude to leave him on read and then have me play secretary for you."

Johnny's silent for a moment, and Mark wonders if he went too far. "Uhhh, I haven't left— Oh fuck, did he text me when the parade thing broke?"

"Yeah, man, he did. He knows we're talking, so that's been not awkward at all. Did you not see it?"

Johnny groans. Mark, meanwhile, feels distant relief that Johnny isn't the sort of person to ignore Taeyong's genuine attempts to reach out. "I was getting spammed," he says ruefully, "and deleting texts like crazy. I don't see my messages with him anymore. Shit, I must have deleted him."

"Wow, that sucks," Mark laughs.

"It's a miracle I responded to your message, honestly. I got so angry I thought some stalker was trying to pretend to be you."

Johnny's voice gets further away, and Mark laughs at him some more and reminds him to put on speaker if he's going to text Taeyong his groveling apology right now.

"Sorry, sorry, it'll just take a sec," Johnny says. "Do you have any idea what he said? No, that doesn't matter, I need to…" He breaks off, and Mark waits for a minute as Johnny types and then hums an affirmative.

Mark imagines Taeyong's face when he gets the message. One less thing for Yong to worry about.

"We had a meeting about you," he confesses, thinking back to Doyoung's determination and how fiercely everyone seemed to agree that it needed to be Johnny's choice as to whether they spoke up for him. "Doyoung was ready to do a VLive presentation about prejudice, I swear. Yuta, um, found your Insta."

Johnny groans again, but this one breaks into laughter. Mark hears when he takes the phone off speaker and cradles it next to his face again. "Oh, I'm sure that entertained him for a good hour."

"Yeah, for real. I was too busy freaking out about texting you, and the hashtags, to rate your thirst traps. Oh!" He's far enough away from it, and on a social media ban of his own, that he forgot a big part of why he texted Johnny in the first place. He didn't want Johnny to misunderstand and think he was an intolerant bigot. "Man, I don't know if you saw that clip of me, or the memes and whatnot, but I was—first I was confused so many people were asking about you, and then I panicked because I thought SM forced you out. I don't, um, care that you're bi," Mark offers, somewhat pitifully after his word salad. He needs more practice in exclusively English, which is a horrifying thought. "Like, no one does. None of the members."

"That's nice of you, Mark," Johnny says, and his tone is low. Mark can't tell if he sounds touched or disturbed. "But no, SM didn't kick me out, and it never even crossed my mind you'd care about that. I know _you_ , despite the hiatus." He pauses, and the next words land with impact: "I also know you've always been close with Tennie."

Hearing Johnny say Ten's name is unsettling. Mark is so caught on the weirdness of it that he barely feels relief that Johnny never misunderstood his reaction. "Yeah."

"You took it really well when Ten came out."

"I, uh, I was fourteen," Mark points out. "I could have turned into a real asshole since then, you dunno."

Johnny scoffs. "Please, not with your army of hyungs. And I'm sure SM's been careful to keep you from falling in with the wrong crowd."

Johnny's making one of his too-precise jokes, which Mark has been pretty good about laughing off, but it lands wrong. Mark has his issues with SM, that's no secret (especially given that last meeting, yikes), but Johnny doesn't know the half of them. He knows what Mark tells him, and those are slices of context. What impression Johnny has of the company is more than half a decade out of date and colored by his own history.

He also knows Johnny doesn't mean anything by it. At most, it was a barb meant for SM, sailing over Mark's head. "Sure," Mark allows. "I'm still, like, a goody-two-shoes, I guess."

"You're just a good person, man," Johnny says warmly, and Mark curls his toes at how embarrassing it is to hear that. "That's never going to change."

"Haha, right. Uh, thanks."

Johnny is nice enough not to make fun of him, at least for now. "I know you're still the same overly polite kid who won Hardest Working Trainee every year."

It sets Mark's teeth on edge, to be referred to as a kid in the midst of his grappling with the most adult mess of his life to date, but he can't blame Johnny for doing it. He's crystalized in Johnny's memory, somewhat, the same way Johnny's in his, and it's not like Mark's done something to shatter that for him, like post shirtless pics.

But Johnny keeps talking, and Mark finds himself unclenching his jaw. "You have a better idea of what you want than you're giving yourself credit for. You know you want the solo, and creative control, you know the brand deals and shit don't matter to you, and you know you don't want to lead NCT when Yong's away. That's your list of demands, and your lawyer works from there."

"It's that easy? I tell him what I want, send him in, and he gets it?"

"No, it's not gonna be _that_ easy." Johnny sounds amused, but he snaps back to business in a hurry. "Negotiations can suck, not gonna lie, but it seems like pretty basic math to keep your ace happy. The company will probably fold if the threat of you walking away is real." He stops for a moment, and Mark hears the curiosity in his voice when he asks, "Are you okay with the idea of walking away if they refuse to make someone else the leader?"

"I have… no freaking clue," Mark says. "I've literally never thought about it. I never thought they'd want me to do something as dumb as leading 127, but uh, here we are."

"It's not that dumb," Johnny says, with an edge that tells Mark not to bother arguing. "You don't want it, that's cool, you shouldn't have to do it, but it's not dumb."

"Wow, thanks, number-one Seasonie, Johnny Suh. You're really boosting my ego here."

"It needs a good boosting every once in a while," Johnny says. "Can't recommend that enough. Oh, and massages."

"I got a massage once," Mark confides. "I jacked my knee up pretty good and they sent me to a clinic, and the idea of that happening, like, all over is a nightmare."

"Oh, you are _missing out_ ," Johnny says emphatically. "I know the kind of pounding your body takes"—Mark struggles not to giggle at Johnny's unintentionally loaded phrasing—"and you should be getting a massage a week for maintenance."

"Maintenance? What am I, a robot?" Mark, alone in his room, does a pitiful, seated version of the Robot with his arms. "Beep boop," he says, closing his eyes against the terrible things coming out of his mouth but unable to stop them. "Activating unit… NCT Mark."

"Kinky," Johnny says flatly, and breezes over what Mark had the misfortune of saying. "Your body needs the reset. Shit, when was the last time you even took a vacation?" Mark's mouth pops open to tell Johnny he had a day off a few weeks back where his parents drove him to the sea. "And I don't mean a day trip, or any place they made you take cameras to," Johnny continues, winding up with it. "Just you, a hammock, and a beer, no schedules, no cameras, no members."

Mark mouths the word _hammock_ and realizes he's been saying it wrong his entire life. "Uhhhh, grade six?" Mark jokes. "Never? I don't get vacations, really. Or at least I haven't taken one."

"Tell the lawyer that," Johnny says immediately. "And book a first-class ticket to somewhere nice ASAP, dude. You need a damn break."

"Where am I gonna go? Where in Asia am I not gonna get mobbed the second I'm off the plane?" The idea of going somewhere new and exciting, and not as a stopover for a concert and PR schedule, does sound good. There's a huge list of places Mark would like to revisit without an entourage of thirty people. It's just a joke to think he _could_ go, without staff. That there would be a gap in his calendar long enough to make the trip worth it.

"Doesn't have to be Asia. Think bigger. You been to, uh, Hawaii?"

"Of course not. And I gotta say, I don't really see myself doing the tourist thing there." He watched a news piece about the impact of tourism on the islands and pretty much crossed it off his list forever.

"Okay, so what about a Europe trip? What about Australia?"

"Australia's too hot," Mark vetoes. "Too many things that could kill me."

Johnny sighs like Mark's really letting him down, but Mark can tell he's enjoying this. "They have some nice, safe, all-inclusive resorts in the Maldives. The bathrooms literally open up onto the water."

"Hmm," Mark says, and strokes his chin in thought until he remembers Johnny still can't see him. "Nah. One, what if I get so relaxed chilling that I float out to sea? And two, those types of vacations, those are for rich people."

"Mark, I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm ninety-nine percent sure you qualify as a rich person."

"Okay, I do fine—"

"You're a K-pop star in like seven different bands—"

"—but I'm not _rich_ rich. Maybe I could afford it," he acknowledges, "but does that glitzy Maldives shit scream _Mark Lee_? No."

"Fair enough. So somewhere less fancy. A mountain meditation retreat, where you don't have to speak to anyone?"

"I'd start talking to the walls by day two, yo." He really thinks about it, any destinations he'd like to explore, anywhere in the world, and he comes up with a short and embarrassing list. "Maybe, like, places I used to live? To see how they've changed? And do some exploring as an adult."

Johnny hums into the phone. "See, now we're getting somewhere. Canada's a respectable vacation destination." A yawn slips out of Johnny then, and Mark can hear him try to cover it.

"I should let you go, man. You're going to need twice the amount of coffee to get moving tomorrow."

"I got nowhere to be," Johnny says easily. He yawns again. "But I am kinda wrecked. I went on a run and then it was leg day."

"Oh, I'm sure it's real hard to lug around all those muscles," Mark jokes. "I can't imagine the suffering."

"We both know I only go to the gym to take mirror selfies for Grindr anyway," Johnny says. Mark almost assumes he mishears him for a minute, but it's not like the concept of Grindr managed to miss Mark all the way out in Korea. Ten made a joke about it once, Mark looked it up (typing "grinder" in Naver until giving up and trying Google), and it means he fully gets Johnny's reference to a gay hookup app. Mark can't even begin to process that. "I'm crashing pretty hard, but I'll text my mom and she should have the lawyer's number for you in the morning. Uh, your evening."

"No rush," Mark says.

"Pretty big rush, I'd say," Johnny says, amused. "Night, Mark. It's good to hear your voice, man."

It's not as extreme as when Johnny called him a good person, and Johnny could be saying it to say it, but Mark feels himself flush with happiness. "Night, Johnny. You too."

Johnny ends the call, and Mark stares at the ceiling and relives the silly shit he said, the way Johnny listened to him, his solid advice; there was an ebb and flow, some awkwardness, but Mark didn't feel like he was talking to a stranger. He felt like he'd talked to a friend. Though their dynamic was close enough to what it used to be to make Mark feel unsettled, there was a new depth to it.

He's thinking about dinner, and about the logistics of taking a few days off to visit Toronto, when his phone buzzes.

**[Johnny Suh 4:48 p.m.]  
** _> Texted eomma, will tell you # in exchange for promise you will 1) book a massage OR 2) book a vacation_

**[Me 4:49 p.m.]  
** _> Is this blackmail? Are you blackmailing me lmao_

**[Johnny Suh 4:49 p.m.]  
** _> I do what I gotta  
_ _> I just thought of this but you're welcome at my pad any time, I could show you around NY_

Mark makes a surprised noise at his phone. It never occurred to him to visit New York, even though he literally lived there too. It never occurred to him that he could visit Johnny, specifically, and the idea sits warm and nervous in his stomach.

**[Me 4:50 p.m.]  
** _> Yo I appreciate it! _

**[Johnny Suh 4:51 p.m.]  
** _> It's not the Maldives but I do have a pull out couch and a lot of favorite restaurants_

**[Me 4:52 p.m.]  
** _> I'll think about it haha_

He says it to be polite, but after he's rustled up a snack, bugged Yuta, and gotten a text from Taeyong that lets him know Johnny's groveling was successfully received, Mark finds himself turning the idea over in his mind. He knows what New York is like in fall; it's his favorite time there. He wonders what neighborhood Johnny lives in, he thinks he's in Manhattan but he isn't sure, and if any of the friends Mark made in school when he was a kid still live there.

It's a pipe dream, a fantasy, but it's a good one, and it makes Mark happy to visualize Johnny picking him up at the airport, taking him to his favorite sushi place, just doing things two normal, non-idol dudes do.

Maybe someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow us on Twitter: 🐍 is [@sneakethsnek](https://twitter.com/sneakethsnek) and 🐱 is [@johnnyseo_paws](https://twitter.com/johnnyseo_paws).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Please note:** This chapter contains Hansol and the sensitive topic of his leaving SM. If that could be upsetting for you, the scene begins with "Mark's just come home from an afternoon out with Jaemin and Donghyuck"; just scroll down to the scene break/flash forward to skip it. 
> 
> Also, there's a brief mention of Jungwoo's hiatus, but it is not delved into.
> 
> 🐱: Full disclosure: this chapter is a Meaty Boi 🍖 But it was also quite fun to write! Sneaky really brought the power here, and over the course of the last couple of days of us writing it, it felt like it was a lot of smooth sailing for us. Mark struggled a lot in Chapter 2, so we struggled along with him. Hopefully Chapter 3 shows you a slightly less stressed baby. 
> 
> My eternal thanks to Sneaky, as always, for being the absolute dream collaborator for me. Thank you for the 20-minute-long voice notes you sent about this story. This fic continues to be a source of both joy and anguish for us, but God, do I love it, and love co-writing with you. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone still following this story, and welcome, to everyone who just got here. We hope you like this chapter!
> 
> 🐍: Mon basically said it all, honestly. This chapter went by so quickly, and we're so excited to get to some really good stuff in upcoming chapters, but writing all the buildup was honestly super fun. It was like we'd set Mark up in an obstacle course, lolol. I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> As always, big thanks and hugs for Tay!!!!! She's an angel who wrangles 20k chapters like it's no thing.
> 
> Mon, my co-captain, my co-leader, the person who listens to my unhinged voice notes and just "yes, and?"s me. You!!! Are a superhero!!!!! I'm so, so glad I got randomly obsessed with your KunTen and JohnMark fic and started bugging you incessantly. <3333 Thank you for indulging me and my screencaps of early 2000s fast-food commercials, friend.

Taeyong waits to tell the members until they're two cups of soju in, everyone loose and chatty and happy to stuff themselves with food. Mark watches him slowly shred his napkin, but he still tops up everyone's cups and plates and smiles like he isn't about to drop a bomb on them.

Poor Taeyong. Mark knows telling his family was rough; he came back from his weekend looking like someone who'd spent a lot of time crying instead of enjoying quality time in his mom's garden. Now he has to tell his second family, and Mark guesses that might be even worse. The choice to take everyone out for a meal was a good one; at least none of them are stupid enough to, like, shout in public, but they wouldn't hesitate to get loud at the dorm. There's staff too, capable of stepping in if the mood gets too heavy.

"Ah, I got word from the company that I have an enlistment date. It's in five months, in March."

The shock swallows all sound. For long moments, Mark covertly studies the table; Yuta was midway through dipping his mandu in sauce, and it's suspended in the little dish, seeping up liquid. Jungwoo was chewing, and he stopped, cheek bulging. Doyoung's head is down, face shuttered; Mark suspects he already knows.

Jaehyun puts his beer glass on the table with a thump, breaking the spell. "Shit, Yong."

Taeyong ducks his head, and seated next to him, Donghyuck puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Yeah."

"Five months? Taeil knew a year ahead of time," Yuta says, looking at Taeyong dead-on like he's trying to read him, like it isn't clear how much Taeyong hates this.

Mark gets the impulse; he went through the whole cycle of grief when he found out, and more, but he wishes everyone would do better than he did. His shock and anger when he found out at that contract meeting in the chilly conference room feels distant now that he's had time to process and get over himself a little. Everyone will settle down once they've had time, but in the interim, Taeyong is going to be miserable.

"I mean, we knew with the staggering that Taeyong would be next, and Taeil gets out in a few more months, so it makes sense," Mark says. "We knew this was gonna happen."

"I only found out last week," Taeyong says, quiet, still staring at his plate.

"I'm really sorry, Taeyong-hyung," Jungwoo says. "I know it's not what you want."

"No, it's not," Taeyong says, with more confidence, and he brings his head up for a smile that isn't reflected in his glimmering eyes. "But Mark's right; we all knew I'd be next, even if it's a surprise that it's so soon."

"They didn't let you choose, did they?" Yuta asks, jaw rigid. "No, of course they didn't."

Mark carefully doesn't look at the managers at either end of the table. They're equally as liable to unload about the company's practices and the way members and staff are frequently railroaded, but the band has had a few instances of venting getting back to higher-ups. Anyone could overhear and tattle, he doesn't kid himself; there's a dozen strangers on sets on a given day. Mark hopes he knows the managers, especially Jong-hoon, well enough to trust the instinct he has that says it wasn't them, or if it was, they thought bringing the complaints up the ladder would help. Lately, though, Mark's finding himself second-guessing every dynamic, wondering what he's tolerating because it's a habit long ingrained.

God, he thinks, pouring Yuta more soju. This must have been what Johnny felt in his final days at the company. Questioning everything. Not getting answers that quieted the uneasy pit in his stomach.

He doesn't think he's on the verge of leaving or anything—that would take a hell of a lot, for Mark to throw all his hard work into the toilet and betray his members like that—but he thinks he can understand what led to Johnny's decision a little more.

"No, they didn't," Taeyong confirms. "But I don't think that matters. If it's in five months or a year, I still have to go."

"You don't need to worry about us," Jungwoo says. "Please don't worry about us when you go away, hyung. We'll be fine."

Taeyong sends Jungwoo a watery but genuine smile. A few members murmur their agreement, and Donghyuck is stroking Taeyong outright now, squeezing the back of his neck occasionally. Doyoung is still unmoving, silent. Jaehyun is deep in his beer.

"And if we're not fine, we'll send you eight million texts a day like we do Taeil," Hyuck says. "You'll be so sick of us."

Mark clears his throat. This is the best time to segue into the very real possibility that Mark's going to be forced to steer the 127 ship, unless Johnny's lawyer can get him out of that. They deserve to know, and they might have some ideas as to who should lead in Taeyong's place.

"So, uh, I had my contract meeting last week, and I think that's why they put a date on hyung's enlistment. They want me to take over as leader."

He expects raised eyebrows, groans of disbelief, questions and demands, but the group looks pretty much the same. Jaehyun's back to eating, even, chewing and looking between Mark and Taeyong with a blank expression.

"Okay," Yuta says. "Makes sense."

Mark's so startled he actually laughs. "Uh, does it?" He shakes his head, unnerved, and forges on. "You know I never wanted to lead 127," he says, which is true enough; they joked about it a couple times and Mark always shuddered and protested. "Like, they didn't even ask, they just said, yo, you do this or you never get a solo."

"We're going to talk to the company about who could lead instead," Taeyong says. "I think they might listen if we all stand with him and come up with someone else."

"It would be nice if you guys backed my play, I guess," Mark says.

"Can I ask why you think one of us would be a better leader than you, bro?" Jaehyun asks. "I don't think it'd be that different from when you led Dream?"

Mark led Dream feeling like he was on a rampaging stallion with a slipping saddle and no reins the entire time. He could barely get them to shut up and listen to his directions, and he constantly felt like he was neglecting them for 127 and couldn't get the balance right.

He's not nurturing like Taeyong, or serious and focused like Doyoung, or even chill and approachable like Jaehyun. He has no desire to revisit the dynamic of being in charge, especially since, unlike in Dream, he's one of the youngest in the group. At least he had seniority before. "I was bad at leading Dream, hyung."

"No, you weren't," Hyuck says, cutting Mark a flinty look. "You may have hated it, but you did fine."

"I didn't _hate_ it," Mark hedges, even though he kind of did. Coming back in 2020 was a huge relief because he didn't have to step into that role again. "But everything worked a lot better once Jeno basically took over."

Hyuck rolls his eyes. He's stopped stroking Taeyong, but he pours him more soju and nudges him to eat, plucking fishcake and meat with his chopsticks and depositing them on Taeyong's plate. "You weren't there, which is the only reason you'd say something like that."

"Can we not argue about Dream right now?" Mark asks, tight. "The company has me cornered like a rat, and I just wanted to have you guys show some support."

"Mark-yah, I'm sorry they're holding the solo hostage," Yuta says, leaning in to make eye contact with Mark. "Fuck them for that. But as for the leader thing, I'm not sure what you expected? It's the logical choice. I always assumed you'd take over when Taeyong enlists."

"Yeah, me too," Jungwoo says. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You'd do great."

Mark didn't realize this would turn into everyone trying to reassure him that no, actually, he'd be a _great_ leader; he thought they'd have a discussion about alternatives, negotiation strategies. He didn't think they'd shrug and dismiss him. It's not a great feeling, and even if Mark understands that they don't live in his head and can't understand how huge this is, how much he doesn't want to do it, he assumed they'd accept his word and go from there.

"I think we should take some time to think," Doyoung says from out of nowhere. He looks too pale, and there's a tightness to his mouth, but he's back to talking business. "We only just found out we're losing our leader in five months. Let's deal with that before we make plans to storm SM with demands, yes?"

"I mean, I've gotta sign that contract soon, so if any of you want to step up and be the leader instead, since it's so easy and all, you should let me know."

"Mark," Doyoung says in a mild, warning tone.

"If Mark doesn't want to, then none of us are going to try to make him," Taeyong says, in his Leader Voice, though it's soft at the edges. "We're not doing that." He disarms the words with a tremulous, self-deprecating smile. "I'm still the leader for now, so that means you have to listen to me."

"I'm sorry, did someone say something?" Hyuck jokes, putting yet more food on Taeyong's plate. "Was that the wind? Is there a draft in here?"

"Hmm, it sounded like Taeyong," Jungwoo says, playing along and looking relieved Hyuck has broken the tension. "Do you remember Taeyong?"

"I've never met a Taeyong in my life," Yuta says, deadpan.

"You guys," Taeyong protests, laughing. Hyuck pinches his cheek.

Mark notes how effortlessly Hyuck steered them out of the conversation into somewhere less tense. Mark can't do that. Even Donghyuck would be better suited as a leader, and the fact that they can't see that is giving him a stomach ache that has nothing to do with all the soju.

🍂🍂🍂

The entire conversation with the band leaves Mark feeling unsettled, restless in his own skin like it doesn't quite fit. He can't get out of his own head, and even if he knows he needs to make calls to the new lawyer and his parents, he's kind of vegetating on his bed. His manager putters around their room, a rare instance where Jong-hoon-hyung is actually spending the night at the dorms because he's escorting Yuta to a shoot early in the morning. Mark's honestly a little glad for the company, even if they aren't saying anything.

The number to the new lawyer is sitting in his texts with Johnny, and he's stared at it enough times that Mark's pretty sure he's memorized it already. He isn't exactly sure how he's supposed to go about it, changing lawyers. He doubts it's as simple as calling Kim & Kim LLP and saying, "Hello, Kim-sunbaenim, I'd like you to be my new legal counsel," and booting the lawyer he's had since he first got to SM.

As if the fates are listening to him, his phone goes off and he sees his mother's caller ID.

Mark sighs, pulling his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose before he answers it.

"Eomma, hi," Mark says, before the blurry outline of Jong-hoon slips out of the room to give him privacy. "How are you?"

"Hello, Minhyung." His mother's warm voice is a balm, even if he's feeling all sorts of unrest at the moment. "How are things? Have you given more thought to the contract details?"

Mark bites his tongue, and then bites the bullet. "Yeah, uh, I think I'm changing lawyers. I need someone who's willing to bat for me instead of making me bend for SM. I've got the contact for them already, I just need to make the call first."

There's a beat of silence before he hears his mother hum. "How do you know this lawyer will help you out more than the current one?"

"Well," Mark says, readjusting himself on the bed so he's fully on his back. He closes his eyes. "He wasn't referred to us by SM, which is like, suspect? Now that I think about it?" He hears her hum again, considering, and struggling for anything else, he tacks on, "Plus Johnny suggested him."

"Oh! I didn't know you were still talking to him," his mother replies. Mark can read his mom's voice on instinct, and he knows that she's itching to ask more about the details but is holding herself back. "This was the lawyer that got him out, right?"

"Yeah," Mark says, remembering his conversation with Johnny on the phone a few days ago. He tries not to think too hard about how clear Johnny's voice is in his head, still. "Johnny swears by him, and I guess considering it wasn't, like, _lawsuit_ levels of messy when Johnny left, I guess we can trust him."

"Okay, honey," his mom says. "Look, you know your dad and I only care about what you feel is best for you, right? So if you want to get a new lawyer, then get a new lawyer. Explore your options."

Mark can picture her pacing around in their living room with her elbow propped up in her hand, phone pressed close to her ear, some half-finished crafting project on the coffee table.

"I know," Mark replies. "I still have to figure out what exactly is best for me yet, but thanks for the reminder."

"Empty-nesting is so hard," his mother whines. "You and your brother used to ask me for help in everything, but you left home years ago, and now that Jinhyung's moved out too, I'm lucky if he texts me once a week!"

Affection surges through Mark, and he feels a little less afloat hearing his mother and her exaggerated complaints. He knows full well how much she enjoys the freedom of having to only take care of his dad, but it makes Mark smile anyway. "I'll tell Jinhyung-hyung to get it together and call you more."

"You better!" his mom laughs. "Okay, I just wanted to check in on you. I'll talk to you soon. Call that lawyer. Let me know if you need anything. Love you."

"Yes, Eomma," Mark intones. "I love you. Bye."

🍂🍂🍂

**[Me 1:55 p.m.]  
** _> Johnny. This lawyer's office is in a mall.  
_ _> Where have you sent me?? lol_

**[Johnny Suh 1:56 p.m.]  
** _> Oh word, he hasn't moved yet huh?  
_ _> Just...know he's a character  
_ _> But he's got a lot of experience  
_ _> I think he used to work as a casting agent or something before he went back to law school_

**[Me 1:59 p.m.]  
** _> Okay I'm in the fucking mall office, my manager is waiting for me in a Starbucks  
_ _> There's a bbq place nearby and I can smell it, I'm starving now  
_ _> His receptionist is nice at least_

**[Johnny Suh 2:03 p.m.]  
** _> I remember that bbq place being pretty good! If it's the same one  
_ _> Also, you got this  
_ _> It's gonna be a lot of basic questions and signing paperwork to get the ball rolling  
_ _> You remembered your list?_

**[Me 2:04 p.m.]  
**_> Yeah I've got everything ready  
__> Hopefully everything goes smoothly and I can let him handle it all _🙏🙏

 **[Johnny Suh 2:45 p.m.]  
**_> LMK when you're done _👀👀  
_> I know that guy is a little weird but he knows what he's doing_

 **[Me 3:16 p.m.]  
**_> Jesus _😖  
_> I feel like I just ran 7 marathons_

**[Johnny Suh 3:18 p.m.]  
** _> Yeah dude, it's a lot  
_ _> You okay? How you feeling_

**[Me 3:20 p.m.]  
** _> Uh I don't know if it's possible to be okay after that haha  
_ _> I'm not upset or anything? Just overwhelmed  
_ _> Okay I'm a little upset haha  
_ _> I hate that I have to do this and that it's so hard  
_ _> He showed me some examples of contracts and mine is like on another planet it's so different_

**[Johnny Suh 3:22 p.m.]  
** _> Yeah, I can imagine  
_ _> Did you tell him what you wanted? Does he think he can get it?  
_ _> Mark?_

**[Me 3:30 p.m.]  
** _> Sorry was hiding in a bathroom so I wouldn't have to talk to Jong-hoon yet lol  
_ _> Fuck man idk where to start  
_ _> The good news is he thinks it's all pretty doable  
_ _> He's convinced I can get more money too even though I told him I don't care about that  
_ _> But then he said money's the only thing I get to take with me when I do eventually leave SM and...yeah haha  
_ _> I hadn't thought about it like that, like those songs belong to the company  
_ _> Even my solo stuff would probably be theirs  
_ _> I need to leave this mall and get back to the dorms but you should GO TO BED_

**[Johnny Suh 3:42 p.m.]  
**_> LMK when you get home, I can do a call or video chat if you need to process some more  
__> I don't even know if that's helpful _🙈  
_> But I'm here _

Despite the fact that the most recent timestamp was over an hour ago, and it's possible Johnny went to sleep or even had to get ready for work since it's so early there, Mark wants to initiate a video call and unload about the meeting. He's home and changed, sitting on his bed, his anxious stomach filled with a conciliatory Starbucks frapp Jong-hoon passed him without comment.

He feels like he was out in the sun too long, hyper aware of his skin, irritation making him feel like his clothes are too rough. Or maybe it's nerves over the idea of talking with Johnny via a video call.

Mark's seen enough of Johnny's selcas to believe he's grown some sort of immunity to Johnny's whole _thing_ , but Mark's hands still feel kind of like they've been doused in seltzer water over the idea of seeing him in real time. This really shouldn't be anything huge. It's only a video call. Besides, Johnny's seen enough of Mark's own shitty selcas back for Mark to be self-conscious at this point.

Firmly, Mark pushes the call button.

Johnny picks up, and he's still in bed, bundled in the covers on his side with the phone propped on the mattress or another pillow. Mark feels tired just looking at him.

"Hi," Johnny says, yawning big. The connection stalls out for a second, and Mark laughs at the image of Johnny's wide-open mouth, his scrunched nose, until it picks back up on Johnny blinking sleepily at him.

"First of all, Mr. Kim says hello. He asked me how _little Johnny_ was doing."

Johnny splutters into a laugh, rolling forward to shove his face in the pillow.

"Yeah, and that was basically my first impression," Mark says. "After his blinged-out watch and the ugly Versace sneakers he was wearing with a three-piece suit."

"Oh man, you're making me miss this guy," Johnny says, resettling on his pillow. "Also, nice to hear he's upgraded to Versace. He was rocking off-brand sneaks six years ago."

"Must be making a killing, handling contracts for news anchors, middle-aged actors, and little old me." Mark smiles through it so Johnny knows he's not actually salty about Mr. Kim's diverse client base, which he'd plastered all over his waiting-room wall in framed pictures. His office was a far cry from the sleek, ultramodern space Mark's old lawyer practiced in, with beautiful receptionists on knifeblade stilettos who brought Mark to cold conference rooms filled with imported snacks.

Maybe that lack of pampering and farce is a good thing, though. Especially since this guy seems to be fired up on Mark's behalf, eager to get him what he wants and even more.

"Maybe you're his ticket out of the mall, Mark," Johnny teases. "You ever think of that?"

"That explains why he's so excited to go after the company," Mark says. "Oh my God, Johnny, I thought the contracts were supposed to be, like, all good now? Like, they had to revise them a while back, and I thought that was supposed to fix it."

"They are better, compared to what they used to be. Remember our trainee contracts? Remember those giant-ass penalties?" Johnny wrinkles his nose, then scrubs a hand over his face and yawns again. "Anyway, you get all your questions answered?"

"Most of them, yeah," Mark says. He'd literally gone over his list of goals and concerns one by one from the handwritten list—the same list Johnny had helped him compile a few days ago. "He's waiting for more of my files from my old lawyer, and he needs to get some stuff from SM, but he said we should be able to negotiate in a few weeks. The contract might lapse in the meantime, which I'm like, shitting myself over, but he said that can happen sometimes and we'll be able to deal with it."

"Sounds about right. So what's the strat?"

"Uh, dunno all of it yet. He mentioned building a case for how much money I make SM, being, like, mad aggressive, and seeing if they made any accounting mistakes or broke the contract, like they did with your trainee debt."

Mark's number-one requirement, which he laid down after clarifying how badly he wants the solo and how very badly he doesn't want to lead, was that Mr. Kim understands that quitting the company isn't an option. Mark knows he'll have to accept some terms that he, or Mr. Kim, thinks are shitty, but he can live with that so long as he gets the solo and a measure of creative control over it and doesn't have to shoulder 127 all alone. Short of something catastrophic happening, he's not leaving SM, and he sure as hell isn't leaving NCT.

When Mark got done saying all of that, Mr. Kim leveled a look at him across his enormous mahogany desk, with his unknowable face that could have been forty-five or could have been seventy, and said with exaggerated patience, "Mark-ssi, _they_ don't need to know you aren't leaving. In fact, it's probably better if we make them think the opposite."

"So you're good with the plan? You're okay moving forward with him?" Johnny asks.

"Yeah, for sure," Mark says. "He was a kooky dude, kinda fun to be around, and he seemed to think I was the weird one for being more upset over the leader thing than my profit shares. He said he thinks it's all doable, that I can get even more than I asked for in my list." Mark laughs, remembering. "He said he actually recognized me, so clearly I'm too famous to have a deal this shit."

"Damn right." Johnny's eyes crinkle at the corners with his smile. "Man, I'm so proud of you. I know that wasn't easy, and you did it all on your own."

"Yeah, I did kinda feel like a hardcore adult," Mark admits, and rolls his shoulders. The tension seeped out of him some, bit by bit, even if he's still coming to grips with the scope of what he's going to protest and try to negotiate. His ears are still ringing from when Mr. Kim casually referred to the contract as a leash around Mark's neck. "It's a cool feeling, I'm not gonna lie."

"Look at you," Johnny says, teasing but warm, "all grown up and fighting battles head-on."

"Paying someone a lot of money to fight my battles for me, which is, like, way better."

"Spoken like a true adult," Johnny says solemnly, and moves on to asking Mark if he should give up and take a half-day so he can get some sleep.

"You need to do something about your sleep schedule," Mark chides him. "You live like Haechan, and it's starting to worry me."

Johnny waves a dismissive hand in front of the camera. "I take a lot of naps, it's fine."

"You're due for one right now. Call your work, take a half day, and sleep, yo. And don't stay up looking at memes again."

"You know I can't resist a reaction image," Johnny says. He gives yet another yawn, this one sounding resigned, and droops visibly on Mark's screen. "Okay, fine. Text me later. Night-night."

"It's morning there," Mark reminds him, bemused, and when Johnny flashes him an over-the-top moue of distaste before ending the call, Mark's heart thumps with fondness.

↩️↩️↩️

Mark's just come home from an afternoon out with Jaemin and Donghyuck, changing out of his jeans and into his house clothes when he hears the knock on his door, and Donghyuck yells, "Come in!"

The door creaks open, and Hansol slips into the room quietly before closing it behind him. It's a little strange, since Hansol doesn't hang out with them too often, usually content to be chilling with Yuta and Taeil, but not completely out of the blue.

Except dread stops Mark in his tracks when he sees the grave expression on Hansol's face.

"Hi, hyung," Mark starts, adjusting his shorts and moving over to his bed. "What's up?"

Mark tracks Hansol's movement as he makes his way to the foot of Mark's bed, and Donghyuck sits up, clearly as unsettled as Mark is about what's going on.

"Hey," Hansol says softly, looking at his hands. "I just—I came to tell you guys I'm leaving the company."

Mark hears the ringing in his ears almost immediately, and somehow, his thoughts jump to Yuta. The words sink in, and Mark registers them, but Donghyuck is the first one to respond, a little, "Oh," slipping from his lips, making Mark glance over at him.

He works his throat, tries to get his tongue to cooperate with his lips to form fucking _words_ , but the only syllables that seem to make their way out are, "But why?"

Hansol sighs, rubs his hand over his face, and sits up, his back ramrod straight. "I think you can guess."

Mark feels an old wound one-year healed threaten to open itself up again, and in his head comes the unbidden, selfish thought of, "Why does everyone keep leaving me?" before he slams the fucking brakes on it. He remembers a box. He remembers packing things away in it. Mark barely registers Hansol speaking anymore, picking up on the gist of it, nodding as he catches the words 'the unit,' 'new group,' and 'tired.'

"Another offer for me came up and it's—it seems pretty good," Hansol says. "Sounds better than whatever I don't have waiting for me here, at least."

This is different from Johnny, who left the industry altogether. This is Hansol jumping from one ship to another—from one team to another. It shouldn't feel like a personal affront, but Mark's barely catching up with what's going on around him half the time. He and Donghyuck are shuttled from practice room to recording studio to filming sets and back again at a pace that gives them whiplash. Mark can only imagine what that must look like to Hansol, who has been waiting and waiting and waiting. Of course he'd take the first deal offered to him, the first promise of a real debut.

"Hyung, we're going to miss you," Mark says, looking up at Hansol, who finally turns his attention to Mark full on.

There's a sad smile on Hansol's face, and Mark wishes that things were different. That SM could work better in their favor instead of benching people arbitrarily. It's precarious, how Mark feels, because whether they say it outright or not, when you're getting on your feet in the idol industry, even your peers are still your competition.

Mark doesn't know how long his star's going to shine, so he has to take every opportunity he's given, get his foot into whatever door opens for him, wedge his body in through the crack, and take things fully with both hands.

Unfortunately, there aren't as many doors that have opened for Hansol, it seems. At least not with SM.

"We'll still see each other." Hansol laughs softly. "Maybe we'll be promoting at the same time. Who knows?"

Donghyuck nods sullenly, swinging his legs off the bed and inching his way closer to their hyung.

"When does it become official?" Donghyuck asks. It occurs to Mark then that he doesn't actually know how Donghyuck felt about or handled Johnny's leaving. He doesn't know how Donghyuck is handling this right now, but Hyuck's voice is steady, like he's processing it better than the muted mess in Mark's head.

"Still talking shit over with my lawyer," Hansol says. "It won't be for a while, a lot of legal jargon has to be sifted through and all, but I wanted you guys to have the heads-up." There's a pause that makes Mark look up. "I didn't want it to catch you guys off-guard."

"Thanks," Mark says, his throat dry. They don't mention Johnny, so he doesn't, either.

Hansol somehow manages to steer them through the morose end and gets them talking about what's in store for Dream. Mark tries to throw himself into the conversation, offering some information about the songs they've got lined up and the few lyrics he's jotted down in the hopes of having song credits.

When Hansol takes his leave, messing up both his and Donghyuck's hair before exiting the room, Mark deflates.

Donghyuck tosses himself back on the bed, sighing. "Another one, huh," he says.

Mark follows suit, falling onto his mattress, eyes at the ceiling. "Yeah."

↪️↪️↪️

Mark peers into the refrigerator, the cold air drifting over his face as he crouches down to see what alcohol they've got lying around. He doesn't usually do this, doesn't usually look for a drink when he's feeling overwhelmed and muddled—that's more Yuta and Jaehyun's speed, really—but Mark's been steeping in an entire jacuzzi of things he doesn't usually do or have to think about. He figures he can get a free pass tonight. There are two bottles of grapefruit Chamisul that he pulls out. He'll replenish them in the morning when he stops at the convenience store.

The dorm's blessedly quiet, nothing coming from Yuta and Jungwoo's room, though he can see the lights on in the gap between the door and the floor. It's been a confusing day at the end of a turbulent week, and all Mark really wants is to lie down, get alcohol sleepy, and maybe talk to Johnny again.

God. Johnny.

It turns out to be truer than he expected, what he'd said to Johnny, that he'd think about a vacation. Specifically, he thinks about New York, especially now that he's gotten over the hurdle of talking to his new lawyer. Mark has this vision that he's had looping in his brain where he's throwing his suitcase on the floor and stuffing a couple of shirts in and just getting on a plane. It feels the way it used to when Mark was like twelve years old and standing in front of five complete strangers, trying to convince them he was worth the shot—like it's there, almost within reach the more he thinks about it, as long as he wills it hard enough.

Mark closes the fridge, uncaps one of the bottles, and takes a hearty gulp of it, some of the clear liquid sloshing down his front in his haste. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then wipes his hand on his shorts.

As if on cue, a message comes in on his KaKaoTalk, a switch they'd made from regular texts since Johnny's taken to sending even more videos from his strange New York existence. He makes his way back to his room, kicking the door closed behind him. He wonders if Johnny meant it, the offer. Or if it's still on the table at all. He'd sounded serious, but Johnny's always had a way of talking that used to make Mark second-guess himself once in a while, his jokes thrown out deadpan and Mark falling for it, taking Johnny's word as gospel.

He sits at the foot of the bed and pulls his phone out from his pocket, screen lighting up with the message preview, as well as several messages in the Dream group chat that Mark isn't exactly up for reading at the moment.

**[Johnny Suh 12:02 a.m.]  
** _> You ever see something and think 'aww cute a squirrel' and then no it's a rat  
_ _> Because that's me right now  
_ _> Why do I live in this goddamn city_

He laughs out loud imagining Johnny's face going from excited to appalled. It's been really nice, comfortable in a way Mark hadn't expected, really, how easy it is for them to just slip back into this long, sprawling conversation without any of the "Hi, hello, how are you"s that usually make texting so stilted for Mark.

**[Me 12:06 a.m.]  
** _> I mean our rats here are literally small, kind of hard to mistake them for anything else dude hahaha_

**[Johnny Suh 12:06 a.m.]  
** _> Okay FAIR  
_ _> Anyway shouldn't you be like getting some shut-eye or whatever  
_ _> Rich coming from me, I know_

Mark takes another swig from the green bottle, neater this time, nothing spilling over. His face is starting to warm, but he's not anywhere near drunk yet. He holds the bottle out, snaps a photo, and sends it over to Johnny.

**[Johnny Suh 12:08 p.m.]  
** _> Woahhhh there this is new haha  
_ _> Are you celebrating something or is this emo hours?_

Mark drops his phone in order to pile all his pillows up into a little hill, which he leans on, before adjusting himself so his bottle of soju is in one hand and his phone is in the other.

**[Me 12:10 p.m]  
** _> Not sure really. It's been a weird week idk_

He isn't sure what makes him do it, whether it's the alcohol making him brave or the confusion of his conversations with the band making him reckless, but he takes a breath and types out the rest of his message.

**[Me 12:12 p.m.]  
** _> I keep thinking about New York tbh_

His heart's hammering in his throat, his face even hotter now, though he doubts it's from the alcohol.

 **[Johnny Suh 12:13 p.m.]  
**_> DUDE! For real?  
__> You wanna talk about this? I'm down to video chat if you have the time _😃

Mark can't help the smile that breaks across his face.

**[Me 12:15 a.m.]  
** _> You sure I'm not interrupting your lunch break??  
_ _> Where are you even how did you see a rat_

**[Johnny Suh 12:15 a.m.]  
**_> I walked to Morningside park so I can eat my takeaway pad thai, man  
__> Rat friend crossed my path, unfortunately for me  
__> It's all good, I'm free to talk for real _🙂

His thumb presses on the little video call icon before he can chicken out, and two rings later, Johnny's face fills up the screen of Mark's phone.

"Hey," Johnny says warmly, and there's sunlight in his hair. Mark can see a vast expanse of grass behind him, but his eyes remain on Johnny's face, on the smile there that shows an affection Mark doesn't think he's seen in years.

"Hey, dude," Mark says, sitting up to get under the light better.

"So, New York, huh?" Johnny asks, and his voice pitches up a little higher than Mark's grown used to. It's clear that Johnny's excited. Mark allows himself to relax a bit. If Johnny's willing to talk about it, that must mean that he's still offering, right?

"Yeah, I just—like, you said it and now I can't stop thinking about it," Mark says. "I can't remember the last time I was there just for some R and R, you know? It's all been tour stops and interviews."

Johnny laughs and takes a forkful of noodles, hiding half his face. "Sorry, man, I'm starving, so you're gonna have to pretend I'm not committing some etiquette crime here."

"Oh my God, just eat, it's fine," Mark says, leaning back on his pillows, propping his elbow up on his bent knee so it doesn't fatigue.

Johnny wipes his mouth with some tissue. "Good to know you're giving my offer a chance." His voice comes out a little muffled, a little tinny, but still loud enough for Mark to hear everything.

"I mean, it's tempting you know? You were right, I don't think I've ever taken a vacation," Mark says. His feet are starting to grow cold from the AC, and he shoves them under one of his pillows as he says, "But if you weren't serious, I could—"

"No! Hold up," Johnny says through another mouthful. He should be disgusting, but considering Mark has lived with men for the majority of his life, he's used to this shit. "I was being serious. Am. I am being serious. You're welcome here anytime, dude."

Mark takes another long gulp from his bottle that's now mostly empty. He can't believe he's even discussing this, but Mark steels himself, straightens his shoulders out, and says, "So, hypothetically speaking, if I were to book a ticket right now, when would be a good time for you?"

Johnny is, like, 20% dimple and cat whiskers. How had Mark never noticed that before? His smile is so stupidly big that Mark can't help but feel it reflected on his own face. "Dude, all I need is like, a week's notice, really, they're pretty great over at my job and I barely use my PTO. I'll put in a leave for you!"

It's like he's about to go on stage for the first time—that's how fast Mark's heart rate has spiked. Either by sheer genius or blind stupidity, he finds himself reaching for the laptop at the foot of his bed, opening it up, and resting his phone upright against the screen.

Ever since he started talking to Johnny again, Mark's wanted to do reckless things. He doesn't quite give himself the time to unpack that though because he's already on the Korean Air website on the grey page that has "Book A Flight" in the upper lefthand corner.

"I'm on the website," Mark says, his voice a little thick, like his tongue is too heavy for words. His hands have clammed up, but his brain's screaming at him to move, move, move, typing in 'Seoul/Incheon (ICN)' into the box labeled "From," and 'New York/John F. Kennedy (JFK)' for the destination.

"Holy fucking shit," Johnny laughs. "You're really doing it!"

"I'm…" Mark trails off as he fills in the dates, estimating a week-long stay in New York for the round-trip ticket, checking out first-class rates for shits and giggles, before he pretty much yells at his laptop screen, startling Johnny who goes, "What? What is it?"

Mark's gasping from the price, ₩12,884,700 searing into his eyeballs. "Flying first class there will cost thirteen million won, what the fuck!"

Johnny looks unfazed. "Dude, that's expected."

"Yeah, holy shit, let me check economy—"

"Mark," Johnny says sternly, "you are not flying economy."

Mark's head is spinning, thinking about all the flights they've taken abroad. How is it that he's been touring for years at this point and has never thought to stop and think about how much it actually cost to do that? For all of the band, the staff, and the crew?

"Johnny, this is _millions of won_ ," Mark says weakly. He knows he can afford it (it's not like he's wanting for cash, considering that Mark isn't much of a big spender), but this is _exactly_ why his brain is screaming at him now for even considering throwing in this much cash to do something that he hasn't even cleared with the company.

"Do you honestly want to spend fifteen hours in a cramped window seat next to someone who could snap your photo and upload it right before liftoff?" Johnny asks seriously, the camera steady now that it seems like he's propped his phone up against something. Probably his drink.

"Oh my God, what am I even doing!" Mark laughs, pushing his fingers through his hair, no longer keeping up appearances about being calm, cool, and collected about this. "SM is gonna kill me."

"They're not gonna kill you," Johnny says, leaning back. "They're gonna do everything they can to keep their ace happy. Besides! You never take vacations, and you're in-between shit right now. Sounds kinda fated to me, don't you think?" Johnny is waggling his eyebrows at Mark, and Mark has a sneaking suspicion that Johnny could convince Mark to break a lot of rules.

Mark thinks back on the week he's had: the entire discussion with the band, the talk with Mr. Kim, and the overwhelming need to take a step back from everything for a while because, over the course of the last month, Mark's had a sort of persistent anxiety-drumbeat in his head and he feels like maybe he's going to topple over if he doesn't actually take a break.

"H-how long can I stay?" Mark finally asks, still toggling over the web page in case the session times out.

"How long do you think you can stay for without SM sending a SWAT team to get you, is the question, man," Johnny says, laughing. "I dunno, like a week? There's a lot you can do here in a week."

One week in New York with Johnny Suh, to clear his head, to pretend that Mark doesn't have the rest of his career to think about.

"Okay," Mark says. "Okay, okay, okay. Friday the eleventh through Saturday the nineteenth is good for you? This month?" Mark tries not to think about how jetlagged he'll be.

Johnny replies, "Hell yeah that's good for me."

His hands move faster, typing in his full name, choosing his seat preference, his credit card details popping up in the autofill. "Jesus, what am I doing, what am I doing," Mark mutters, his voice verging a tiny bit on the edge of hysteria, and Johnny's leaning in closer to the camera. "Dude, for real—"

"Relax, dude, it's just a vacation."

Mark draws in a deep breath and tries to remind himself that people, even idols, take time of all the time. "I'm almost done, just—" Mark is so close to hitting confirm. His finger hovers over the button. "It's gonna be okay, right?"

"It's gonna be a fucking ball, man," Johnny laughs, clapping his hands. "Look at you, SM's rebel child, Mark Lee."

Mark approves the transaction.

The email notification comes in on Mark's phone, thanking him for purchasing and booking with Korean Air.

"Holy shit," Mark says, leaning back against the plush mountain behind him. "Holy shit. I did it."

"See you in New York, Markie." Johnny's eyes catching in the sunlight so clearly, honey-brown filled with mirth. "I'll text you my email address so you can forward your ticket to me, yeah?"

"Yeah," Mark says a little numbly, still mostly in shock that he's gone and done something so wildly out of character for him, or at least the person he's become in the last couple of years, taking everything SM sent his way with a "Yes, sir," and a single-minded determination to be better otherwise he'd lose everything.

"Hey," Johnny says, his voice louder now that he's taken one of his AirPods and held it close to his mouth. "You okay? If you're regretting this now, just te—"

"No," Mark says, quick to correct him. "No, I'm—" Mark breaks off to huff out his incredulous laughter. "I'm really, really excited."

Johnny smiles, big and wide, all perfectly gleaming white teeth. "Looking forward to having you around again."

Six years, and an entire universe of difference between who they were then and who they are now. A tendril of excitement unfurls in Mark's belly, combatting all of his nerves and adrenaline; he gets to hang with Johnny as a grown man and have some time to assess who Mark Lee is outside of the bounds of the company. That's actually pretty sweet. Plus, he loves New York.

"Me too, Johnny," Mark says, biting his lip. "Hah! God! That was stressful."

"Don't worry," Johnny says. "You'll get to unwind here. I'll make the trip worth it, I swear." Johnny winks at him, and Mark rolls his eyes.

"You better," Mark replies, still riding the high from this insane impulse buy. "I'm holding you to it."

Johnny ends the call given that he has to head back to the office, and Mark's hands stop shaking, finally, as he opens his email and forwards it to Johnny's.

**[Johnny Suh 12:47 a.m.]  
** _> Got it! Now you just gotta  
_ _> Tell everyone about it haha_

Mark shoves down the small wave of panic that comes with Johnny's message, because it's true and it's inevitable, but just for now, just for tonight, he's going to allow himself to kind of bask in it, live suspended in the knowledge that he has something to look forward to that isn't hours in a make-up chair or having to field aegyo for the hundred-thousandth time.

**[Me 12:48 a.m.]  
** _> Haha yeah  
_ _> I'll deal with that later  
_ _> For now I kinda just wanna plan for the trip, if that's cool?_

**[Johnny Suh 12:49 a.m.]  
** _> I'm your man!  
_ _> Make a list of stuff you think you wanna do, send it over, and we'll figure the days out  
_ _> Fair warning I have my own list of stuff I want you to experience_

Mark sends a quick thank you and gets back to his laptop.

"Well," Mark says, smiling despite himself. "Here we go," he whispers, opening up a new tab and typing in, "Things to do in new york city."

🍂🍂🍂

At the start of the day, after Mark's showered but before he can make his nervous and slightly hungover stomach take any food, he bites the bullet and emails his manager, two members of staff, the board member, and the board member's assistant. It's as concise as Mark can make himself be: he says he's in the process of switching lawyers and will be taking a week's vacation in the meantime. He doesn't tell them he's going to New York. It's not going to stay much of a secret if all of these people and their interns know his itinerary.

His hands shake while he drafts it. Mark wishes Johnny was in his ear, cheering him on, telling him it's no big deal to be doing this, but it would be a false comfort. Mark's totally sober now, and while he doesn't regret what less-than-sober Mark did the night before, he knows this could be a fight. He knows this is a big deal.

"Please forward any necessary information or requests to Kim Man-sik, my new counsel," Mark types, hoping it sounds official enough. He wonders if he should have had Mr. Kim send this email, or if he should have cleared it with him. His old lawyer was pretty hands-off, and he gets the feeling maybe that isn't supposed to be the case. Well, at least Mr. Kim knows he's leaving for New York. He told Mark to have a good time, to keep his phone on to answer any questions Mr. Kim might have, since he's deep in Mark's paperwork. "Thank you for your patience. I look forward to meeting with everyone to discuss my contract renewal once Mr. Kim is up to speed and I'm back from vacation."

After pressing send, he gets an immediate, canned Out of Office response from one of the staff, spiking his blood pressure until he realizes what it is.

He knows logically that this early, with this big of an email, he's not going to hear anything for a while yet. Mark makes himself crawl out from his room to choke down some breakfast food. While they have no schedules and no rehearsals, and the next big photoshoot is a month out, Mark usually takes this kind of downtime to hone a skill—his guitar, or a dance move he was having trouble with. It's weird to think he won't have to keep himself busy, once he's in New York.

If they let him go to New York.

But it's not like they can stop him, can they? He's an adult. Ten takes vacations once a year or so, most of them to Thailand but not all, and sometimes Taeyong disappears to his parents' house for four or five days at a time. Yuta went back to Japan last year for two weeks. Kai-hyung just texted Mark from some undisclosed location on a boat, hat on his head, tanned all over, throwing a wide grin and a peace sign. Why can't Mark do the same? Why does he feel like he's breaking the fucking law when he only wants some time, a chance to escape the company bubble?

Mark's redressed so he can go play basketball in the park, guzzling water to fend off the headache he's had since waking, when Jong-hoon's usual three-tap knock sounds.

"Come in," he says, and gives his manager an exasperated smile when he finally pokes his head in. "Technically this is your room too, you don't need to knock all the time."

Jong-hoon's here, on one of his days off, for one reason and one reason only: Mark's email. He doesn't look angry, and he isn't wearing that pained expression that says the company's given him bad news to impart, which is encouraging. Mark sighs and crosses his legs on his bed. Jong-hoon sits on his own bed, hair mussed and face unshaved. He must have really been in a hurry.

"Mark-yah, what's up with that email? You're switching lawyers?"

"Yeah, I just felt like it was time for a change. And somebody not referred to me by SM," Mark says pointedly. He isn't going to spend a lot of time justifying his choice to switch attorneys; that's a reasonable thing to do. What he's ill-equipped and maybe nervous to defend is his choice of leaving. If Jong-hoon asks him directly, Mark will probably cave and tell him everything. While he's pretty sure Jong-hoon is on Mark's side first and foremost, the company might instruct him to stop Mark or to try and come with him. "Look, I know it's a lot to hear on a Friday morning, but I need this. I need time to think about what I want, and I shouldn't have to get permission from Lee Soo-man to take time off during a rest period."

Taeil's gone; Taeyong's gearing up to leave; they don't have an album in production; Jaehyun and Haechan are busy being crowned the new kings of K-dramas; Doyoung is busy working on another OST track; and everyone else is killing time waiting for the next big project. There is literally no reason Mark needs to hang around the dorms.

Jong-hoon dips his head in a nod, but the look he gives Mark says he knows there's more going on. "Who do you think you're talking to? Aren't I the one always telling you to take it easy, huh?"

"Yeah," Mark acknowledges. "Sorry for being suspicious, but you could have just texted me."

"You don't get to sass me for being worried," Jong-hoon says, leveling a finger at Mark and wagging it as a joke. "You never send emails like that. You haven't taken more than a day or two off in years. Did something happen?"

"Just life, I don't know." Mark shrugs and tries to keep himself from saying too much. "I've got nothing going on right now, I'm waiting for my new lawyer to get through all my paperwork and stuff, and I thought it was time I took a holiday."

"You're going alone, then? No staff, no members?" Jong-hoon asks point-blank.

"Yes," Mark says, and swallows a big gulp of water. "No parents either."

Jong-hoon's eyebrows go up over his glasses. "Not even your folks? Shit, Mark. This is a big deal."

"Is it, though? Jongin is texting me from a yacht in the middle of the ocean, and I doubt he brought his parents."

"That's Kai, not you. You _really_ want to tell me you're fine? That nothing is out of the ordinary?"

"You know I'm not the type to go off the rails," Mark says. "C'mon, hyung, I'm human too. I think I've earned a chance to unwind. Things are… a lot, right now."

"Exactly what I mean. With the news about Taeyong, and the contract negotiation, for you to want to jet off somewhere alone is setting off alarm bells."

"I don't know what to tell you. Like, I'm an adult, and I want to take some time for myself to think before probably having to dive back in as 127's leader. This could be my last chance at a break for a while, hyung."

Jong-hoon squints, studies Mark's face, and sighs, shoulders slumping. Mark knows him well enough to see he's not going to keep pushing, but things are still too tenuous for Mark to celebrate that little victory yet. "I get it, I do. Just tell me, have you thought about logistics? How you're going to be safe by yourself?"

Realistically, Mark knows that international travel as an idol, even in first class, is a nightmare. He's going to have to be sneaky and handle calling cars and avoiding sasaengs on his own, without the benefit of security. That's to say nothing of New York. But of all the places in the U.S. they visited on tour, New York was the one where he felt like he could melt into the crowd, get lost, go unnoticed. And it's not like he'll be riding around in a giant 127 bus this time, like waving a flag at sasaengs to entice them to break in or follow them from city to city. He'll be discreet, careful, and more importantly, with Johnny.

Mark knows in his bones that Johnny will take care of him. He knows that if something happens, if someone tries to get in Mark's face, Johnny will protect him. Mark's not naive enough to think there isn't a good chance he'll cause some sort sort of splash at some point; he'd have to hide away in Johnny's apartment all week to be totally safe, and that's no vacation at all.

Still, it's fall, nearly winter, getting bitterly cold, and he'll use that to bundle up in hats, masks, and bulky coats. With some luck, he'll be any other tourist.

"Of course I have. I'm going on vacation, not denying reality," Mark says. "And I won't be all by myself."

Fuck. He should not have said that. Jong-hoon cocks his head, and the moment, Mark's implication, builds between them. Somehow, though, he lets that go. "You deserve a nice vacation," he says. "I'm just worried it won't be very nice if you can't keep yourself safe."

"I appreciate that. I promise I'll do everything I can to stay under the radar."

"I hope it's enough," Jong-hoon says, and his eyes look weary and resigned, but he forces a half-smile for Mark's sake. "You're not telling me where you're going, are you?"

"No, sorry." Mark finishes off the water bottle and sets it on his nightstand. "My lawyer will know, and my parents, and probably the band. No offense, but I'm not telling the company if I can help it."

"None taken," Jong-hoon says. "Mark-yah, listen, let me drive you to the airport."

Mark wants to say yes, but paranoia chimes in the back of his head that, if Jong-hoon drives him to the international terminal and sees him off, he'll have a better idea of where Mark is going. "I can just call for a car," he says. "It's not a big deal."

Jong-hoon leans forward, catching Mark's eye in a serious hold, and he refuses to give ground. Mark wants to look away, but he forces himself not to. "I'm asking for you to let me help you stay safe," he says. "I'm not going to betray your trust."

Mark blows out a long, slow breath and gives Jong-hoon a nod. "Okay, hyung. Thanks."

🍂🍂🍂

 **[Me 6:47 p.m.]  
**_> Well I told everyone but my mom that I'm going to NY  
__> Specifically to hang with you  
__> Okay I didn't tell them that, they just figured it out  
__> Yuta figured it out  
__> They all seem okay with it but idk man _😬 _I guess we'll see  
__> Oh and SM sent me what's probably the weirdest email I've ever gotten from them haha  
__> It was so nice?? Like Director Park has NEVER said anything that polite in his life, so clearly his assistant wrote it but Jesus it was wild  
__> I think telling them I'm changing lawyers terrified them into agreeing lolllllll_

He doesn't expect Johnny to reply at this hour, not on the weekend, but it calms his nerves to fill Johnny in, to tell someone about the series of awkward conversations he's been having over the last few days. Johnny never seems to mind his spam when he unloads like this, during the liminal hours of their very opposed timezones.

The biggest hurdle left is his mother. While SM could have tugged on his strings, could have tried to talk him out of his decision, he would have hidden behind his lawyer and gone anyway. He'd have felt like shit the whole time, like a guilty little kid running away from home, but he would have done it anyway to make a point.

With the members, he knew they'd support him if said he wanted a break, but the minute Yuta put together that _Johnny_ is in New York with the way word's gotten around the band that Mark's talking to Johnny again, he looked Mark dead in the eye, smirked, and said, "Tell Johnny-hyung I said hi," and the room had erupted into chaos.

"Are you seriously going to hang out with Johnny in the middle of all of this?" Doyoung demanded, and Mark steeled himself and said, "Yeah. I am. It's only a week. My lawyer's going to need longer than that to get through all the documents I sent him. Seemed like a perfect opportunity."

"I think it's a great idea," Taeyong said, doing his best as usual to be Mark's hype man. If anyone disagreed, they weren't going to say so around Taeyong. "Mark needs a vacation." He teasingly shoved Mark's shoulder, nearly upsetting the iced coffee he was holding. "I'm almost jealous."

"Take me with you," Jaehyun joked. "I've got another round of night shoots soon."

"Poor baby," Donghyuck drawled. "Mark, check your suitcase before you leave. Jaehyunnie might try to slip inside."

And that was… pretty much that. Mark finished his drink, talked to Yuta about going shopping before his trip, and planned to meet up with Jaehyun for some basketball the next day.

After the weirdness of the dinner earlier in the week, how Mark still feels let down by their blase attitude toward him not wanting to take over leader duties, there's something satisfying about surprising them like this. Drawing a line in the sand. Sure, his stomach tried to eat itself during the whole conversation, and he would have been really upset if any of them had made it a big deal, but he left the room feeling lighter.

His eomma, though, could tell him that he's making a mistake or being too hasty, and Mark would keep his ass at home. He trusts her and his father's judgement implicitly, and he worries that there's no way to tell them about this without looking like an impulsive idiot.

So it was impulsive! And maybe a little idiotic! Still, Mark honestly doesn't feel that bad about it. He hasn't taken a vacation really ever, and now that it's looming closer, multiple hurdles cleared, it's starting to feel real, and Mark wants it. He wants to visit Central Park and eat American food in America; he wants to see the city through Johnny's eyes. He wants to see how he and Johnny function in person, when history and distance have fallen away.

He messes around on his phone for a while, thinking of ways to tell his mom. A text message is too impersonal, almost disrespectful. He could take her to lunch out? But then that gives a huge opening for her to insert her doubts and for them to fester in Mark's brain. The idea bothers him, he hates hiding things from her, but probably he should wait until he's closer to leaving.

There's a soft knock at his door, and Mark tells them to come in, curious who it is. He kind of expects Taeyong, or maybe Doyoung coming to give Mark a gentle talking to about his choices, but instead, it's Haechan. He's got a headband on and his skin is gleaming, especially against the white of his oversized T-shirt, so clearly he's finished his beauty routine before taking the elevator up.

"You busy?" he asks in a quiet voice.

"Nah." Mark makes room on his bed, if he wants, sliding over to the very edge. Hyuck clambers on, fitting neatly at Mark's side. He doesn't use Mark as a pillow, instead bogarting Mark's and refusing to share it.

They're not that touchy on the regular, but sometimes it's nice to lie like this, the way he would with Yuta or Taeyong. Plus Donghyuck would have come in armor, fully dressed and with his hair styled, a pair of glasses perched on his nose imperiously, if he wanted to fight instead of talk.

Once Haechan is settled, buried in his own phone like that's the reason he came here, Mark asks, "What's up?" in English.

He's slow to respond, but Mark gets the feeling he's thinking about how to say whatever it is he came to say. "It's been a bumpy few weeks, hasn't it?" he says. "I'm so busy, I forget you're not."

"Thanks," Mark laughs, peering down at Hyuck's hair, the honey highlights in it. Hyuck likes it longer than it is now, but he's got it short in prep for filming again soon. "Way to rub it in."

Donghyuck pinches his arm lazily. "You know what I mean. I lose track of the days sometimes. Hearing Taeyong is leaving soon was a nasty wake-up call."

"Tell me about it," Mark agrees.

They lie in silence for a few minutes, Donghyuck scrolling through what looks like a web store of shoes and accessories, before Hyuck starts up again.

"I don't know if you're going off to America because of the leader thing, but if you are, I wanted you to know I'll support you. If you want to tell SM to fuck off, I'll sign my name to it."

Mark doesn't know what to say for a second. "I'm not going to New York because of the contract stuff, or you all," he says.

"But it's a factor," Donghyuck finishes, his tone light but no-nonsense; he already knows, or thinks he knows, Mark's motives. He's likely close to right; Hyuck gets him all the way through, and most of the time Mark feels like he knows him that well too, but Haechan is Haechan and always finds ways to surprise him. "It's fine." He pauses, and Mark can see his lips curling into a sly smile. "If anything, you proved to us you really don't want it."

"I really fucking don't."

"Okay. I think you're an insecure moron," Haechan says, tone still light, "but okay."

"You came all the way up here to tell me that?" Mark tsks. "I already knew."

"Asshole." Donghyuck pinches him again, digging in harder and longer so it actually hurts, and goes back to his phone.

Mark knows he has no plans of leaving soon, if he came all this way and got comfortable, so he tries to relax too, even though Hyuck took his pillow and is trying to jack his neck up. Hyuck shows him the shoes he wants to buy, and Mark says to get them in a different color; Hyuck complains about the lines he has to memorize, but in the way where Mark knows how delighted he is that he has so much responsibility, that people expect so much from him, that he'll show up on set and kill it.

Twenty minutes later, to his surprise, to the point where Mark nearly catches himself exclaiming, Johnny wakes up and answers Mark's pile of texts.

**[Johnny Suh 7:34 p.m.]  
** _> Pretty sure they recognized my old lawyer's name and shit themselves  
_ _> I'm glad everyone took it well. I'm not surprised  
_ _> You all seem really tight. Even if things are weird rn, that's not going anywhere_

**[Me 7:38 p.m.]  
** _> Why the hell  
_ _> Are you awake???  
_ _> Go back to bed haha_

**[Johnny Suh 7:39 p.m.]  
** _> I'm IN bed, son  
_ _> Had to get up to piss_

Mark's about to type a smart-ass reply about Johnny's old man bladder, but then the selca Johnny presumably just took goes through. He's in very wan light, the sun not out yet, and he's got his mussed hair in his eyes, his covers up to the middle of his chest, and the laziest, sleepiest smile on his face.

The tattoos on his shoulder and arm aren't a surprise, Johnny's mentioned them and the new ink he wants to get, and he saw a few peeking out of Johnny's sleeves and collars on his Insta, but this is an unimpeded view. Mark gawks a little. He didn't realize they took up so much real estate on Johnny's skin.

Hyuck glances over, sees what's on Mark's screen, and does a double take. Literally, he sees it, turns his attention back to his phone, and then whips his head on the pillow to look at Johnny's pecs and the swirls of ink on his body.

"Mark," he says, like a pending storm. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"About what?" Mark asks. "About Johnny? Did you see his tattoos? Intense, right?" He studies the way he can see the lines of Johnny's abs at the very top near the covers and shakes his head. "He got, like, unnecessarily ripped." Jaehyun's the only one in the band who could compete, and even he's a little softer lately, though he still has a six-pack you can see from space.

"About why Johnny Suh is sending you shirtless pictures in bed?"

Mark stalls, closing out of the selca and looking at his log with Johnny. The thumbnail of the photo sits there, staring at him, smiling. Objectively, this isn't that weird, he doesn't think. It's just his chest; it's nothing salacious. Johnny doesn't make a habit of sending this kind of selcas, but he is kind of a running joke for his Insta thirst traps among the band now.

It's not like Yuta doesn't rip his shirt off at every opportunity. Mark wouldn't blink if Taeyong sent him the same pic.

Still, the way Donghyuck's asking puts Mark in a headspace where he's second-guessing it. Maybe, he thinks with a dull thud in his belly, it's because Johnny came out that Hyuck finds something suspect in this. But Johnny's still Johnny; there's no reason he'd try to, what, weave his thirst trap magic on Mark. And he obviously slept shirtless, like half the band does. "Dude, ask _him_ ," he says, trying not to sound defensive.

How like Hyuck to come in to offer him support and then end up getting under Mark's skin over random bullshit.

"Okay, I will." With his annoyingly quick hands, he snatches Mark's phone.

Mark's too stunned to fight for it back, though his chest does tighten over the idea that Hyuck could scroll up and read his private messages with Johnny, the ones where he unloads about his work and his fears for the future. Then he remembers that Hyuck wouldn't be able to understand more than maybe a quarter of it.

"Hey," he says belatedly.

Hyuck ignores him in favor of pressing record. "John-ah," he says to the camera, "I cannot believe you made me look at that with my own innocent eyes. You're a disgusting pervert." He pauses and lifts his chin. "How are you?"

They wait for a reply, during which Donghyuck keeps hold of Mark's cell phone, and Mark cranes his neck to see Johnny text "Hyuckie????? OMG"

The clip Johnny sends back is of him sitting up in bed, hair pushed off his forehead. His shoulders are broad in front of his headboard. The view cuts off above his nipples, this time. "Hyuckie, shit, look at you! You look so handsome!" He scrubs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. "I'm doing fine. Just woke up, going to walk later. Ah, I mean run. Sorry for making you look at my boobs. Go bathe in holy water or whatever you need to do to be clean."

His Korean sounds pretty good, although it's clearly rusty and he slows down a few times to search for the right words.

Hyuck sends back another smart-ass clip, and after he does, Mark snatches his phone back and says, "I'm going to send you his contact information, this is ridiculous."

He does as promised, sending Johnny Hyuck's KKT ID. Donghyuck scoffs and rolls his eyes, but Mark saw how wide he smiled, how much he seemed to relish dropping the honorifics with Johnny, playing up how much he's grown up. It makes something squirm inside of Mark's stomach—jealousy, now that he's not the only one Johnny's reconnecting with?

But that's stupid. He wants Johnny to mend all the fences he can. If the last few weeks have proven anything to Mark, it's that things are better when Johnny's involved. Donghyuck deserves that too, even if Mark feels slightly less special for it.

↩️↩️↩️

Mark and Yeona become a thing.

She isn't quite his girlfriend, but only because she never calls him her boyfriend. It's all very hush-hush, their relationship mostly conducted in secret, texting each other and video calling when they can. It's a miracle at all that Mark manages to slip away, very, very rarely, thanks to the fact that the leader of Daily is twenty-five with a car and is willing to shuttle them off in secret, but Mark still knows that it's stupidly risky.

His first kiss with her happens in an empty bathroom in the SBS Studios maybe five months after they start texting, and it's hardly romantic. Mark has no fucking clue how he's supposed to kiss someone properly, but she seems to be good with telling him what to do, pulling back and telling him to use less tongue. It actually starts to feel quite nice, with her warm hands on his cheeks and his hands on her waist while she presses him into the bathroom stall wall.

They find more time to hang out after that, bending the laws of space and time to find private moments, and one time he risks being discovered to take her out for yogurt. He doesn't even like yogurt. She's worth the inconvenience; she's nicer and more interesting than Mark's ever dreamed of being, and he feels like around her he picks up some of that energy. It's weird, though, how he feels like an adult doing adult things while simultaneously feeling like he's making it up as he goes along, responding to her cues and hoping he made the right call.

Mark loses his virginity to her three days after he turns nineteen in Korea, and it lasts ten minutes before he spills into a condom after he pulls out. She wraps her hand around his dick before she slips two fingers into herself and finishes off while Mark watches her with his jaw hanging open.

She makes him laugh, and she likes it when he sings, more than when he's rapping, and Mark works very hard to make sure that they're not found out. Some of the members know: Yuta, Jaehyun, Taeyong, Ten and Donghyuck, but other than that, it's kept under wraps. It's ridiculously stressful, even more so on Yeona's end, especially when more male fans start coming out of the woodwork.

"It's hard to be a woman in this industry," she tells him one night when she's curled up in bed, and Mark's watching her face fall on camera. She sniffles, wipes her nose with the back of her hand. "Maybe I should just quit. It's too hard, Mark-yah."

Mark doesn't know what to say because he doesn't get it and won't ever get it. He's a member of a boy group. It's always going to be different for him. He understands some of the pressure, and he does always feel like a bug under a microscope, picked at and prodded, but it's worse, it's different, for her.

"You have years and years of training," Mark tries. "You can handle this," he adds, except the end of his sentence sounds more like a question. He wants to encourage her to stay—with him, with her group, but he also knows that for every reason there is to stay in the K-pop machine, there are a hundred others to leave.

It's blow after blow, then, in the weeks after their conversation, because the news hits that Daily is disbanding, and Yeona spends an hour crying on the phone with him before she clears her throat, and says, "I'm sorry, Mark-yah, but this is it for us too. I've got to go home."

Mark has a sob trapped in his throat, but mostly it's panic, sheer panic, so he scrambles and says, "Wait, no, we don't have to break up," and he decides to throw caution to the wind, blurting out, "I love you!" without really thinking it through.

Yeona whispers a quiet, "Oh, Mark… I don't feel that way about you. It's just too much right now, and I can't be thinking about other things when I need to figure out what to do next."

And so it ends like that—no big scene in the rain where he runs after the girl and slow music plays as they kiss, no huge exchange of "I love you"s, only a phone call and Yeona's last, "I'm sorry, Mark-yah. You were wonderful to me. Be well. Thank you and goodbye."

Mark stares at the wall for half an hour until Donghyuck finds him on the floor when he gets home. His best friend says nothing, but has his arm around Mark's shoulder for the remainder of the evening before they get called out for dinner.

Mark makes a decision then to throw everything into his work, even more than he had in the years leading up to debut. There seems to be a pattern of people just sort of walking out, and even if he knows, objectively, that it's because the K-pop industry is a fucking monster, he's starting to think that maybe it's for the best that he doesn't get too attached to anyone in it. He's here, his roots dug into several units, and Mark decides that if the only things he can count on are his work ethic and his tenacity, then so be it.

He knows that where he shines best is in the studio, with his head close to Taeyong's as they write lyrics together; knows that he's at his best when the Dreamies are recording their parts and turning to him when they want his opinion despite being little shits when they're outside of the sound-proof rooms; knows that he's at his best when he's mastered the choreography so well that it's like breathing when he moves.

He doesn't need much of anything else.

↪️↪️↪️

Mark's entire room looks like his closets were the victim of a very localized typhoon.

One would think that considering how often Mark has traveled, he'd already know by now what to bring for a week to New York City. For some reason, he's struggling a little with packing for this.

Maybe it's because, in all the other times, the stylists would pretty much cover what he'd need to bring, giving him the expensive clothes from the massive closets labeled by interview or event. And, Mark supposes, he hasn't been so worried about impressing anyone in particular. It doesn't even make sense that he's fussing so much.

Johnny wouldn't care how he looked, probably won't care if Mark packed only his hoodies and jeans and like two pairs of sneakers, but given how fashion-forward Johnny seems to be based on his Insta and the few conversations where Johnny's texted him while he was out shopping in fucking Soho, Mark wants to put in the effort.

He's just taken out his leather jacket from the suitcase for the third time when there's a gentle knock on the door. He absentmindedly calls out, "Come in!" while chewing on a hangnail on his thumb, frowning at his socks, when he hears the, "Woah, I haven't seen a mess like this since before I gave Taeil-hyung that ultimatum three years ago."

Jungwoo slips into the room and carefully walks around the small mountain of shirts that Mark's got at the foot of his bed, squeezing the back of Mark's neck on the way. "Is it okay that I'm here? I know you're busy."

"Woo," Mark says. "You're welcome here any time. Besides, maybe you can save me from myself. Who knows."

Jungwoo laughs softly, picking up an old navy-blue shirt with polka dots on it that Mark hasn't worn in nearly four years but has, for some reason, decided to bring with him anyway. "I've never seen you this stressed about clothes before, Mark-yah. Besides, you're only gonna be gone a week, right?"

The thing about Jungwoo is that he's always been the one who could handle any of them with the most delicate hand, slipping in the things he is most curious about in conversation so seamlessly that Mark sometimes doesn't realize that it's happened.

"What makes you think that I'm gonna be gone for longer?" Mark goes over to sit next to Jungwoo, who takes his hand in his and then promptly rests his head on Mark's shoulder.

"It just feels a bit like you're running away from home to elope with a sexy Korean-American man, and I'm afraid you're not coming back," Jungwoo says lightly, the joke obvious but still making Mark frown.

Do the members and staff really think he's running away? Is that why the mood has been a little off? Do they really not know Mark needs a damn _break_?

"I'm taking a small break, yo," Mark laughs, forcing himself to seem lighthearted even if he's still kind of reeling. He knocks his head against Jungwoo's gently. "And Johnny is an old friend. There isn't gonna be any eloping happening, I assure you."

"It's just—I know what taking a break means, you know?" Jungwoo says quietly. "I know what wanting to _keep_ taking a break means."

Mark squeezes Jungwoo's hand in his. They don't talk about it often, having opted instead to respect Jungwoo's request to keep quiet about it all those years ago when he went on hiatus.

"I'm not leaving the group, if that's what you're worried about," Mark says seriously. He isn't used to this kind of heavy discussion with Jungwoo, isn't used to the heavy blanket of unease that's settled around the both of them. "I'm not leaving you."

Mark's had his fair share of people come and go. He isn't about to be that person, even if some days feel more tempting than others.

"Is it really so shocking that I'm taking a vacation?" Mark tries to ask lightheartedly, shrugging his shoulder and making Jungwoo look right at him.

"Kind of," Jungwoo replies. "Just got worried, that's all."

It's admittedly nice to know that whatever the fuck happens on the other side of this trip, and the contract negotiations, and the rest of his career, he can count on his team to fight tooth and nail for him to stay on it.

"You're gonna have to pry my cold dead hands from the band if you wanna get rid of me," Mark says with sincerity that comes easy, because he's worked too hard and for far too long to ever want to leave, but he doesn't think it's unfair of him to want to negotiate his terms better while he's here.

"Okay, good," Jungwoo says, pulling away and enveloping Mark in a hug that, on-camera, Mark would have shied away from. Here, especially after Jungwoo's concern, he allows it, even if Jungwoo's pretend kisses make him scrunch his nose up. "Anyway, let me help you. This is a disaster."

"Thanks," Mark says with a groan, hauling himself to stand up again and survey the scene. "This shouldn't be this difficult. We did the Macy's Day Parade three times, I _know_ how pack for this weather."

Jungwoo hums under his breath, casts a look around, and then peers into the hard-shell suitcase that has probably about four pairs of joggers and a puffy Burberry coat in it.

"You're not trying to get photographed, so that coat has to go," Jungwoo says, pointing at it. "You wanna stay warm, look good, and blend in, yeah?"

Mark nods, grateful to have someone around thinking clearly because he's apparently incapable of doing so at the moment. He leaves for New York in two days, so he still has time, but he wants to get this done and out of the way already so he can feel like he's ticked off one thing on his ever-growing list of things to do before, during, and after his trip.

"You really can't go wrong with just bringing a lot of basics, Mark-yah," Jungwoo says thoughtfully, standing up and choosing three pairs of denim jeans and two pairs of black ones, piling them on the bed and then sifting through several sweaters. "You can't bring this one either," Jungwoo says, gesturing at the black and blue NOAH hoodie Mark had intended on wearing to the airport. "The fans know this one. It's like you're _trying_ to attract attention."

Mark deflates somewhat, realizing how much of a logistical nightmare this trip is going to be. He isn't used to flying out without at least a manager around, and the fans have gotten somewhat more aggressive about hounding them at the airport lately. The popularity constantly comes with a price, and this is another stark reminder.

"Fuck," Mark mutters in English, making Jungwoo scoff without malice.

"You're gonna be okay. This will be tricky, but you're gonna be okay. Come on, you haven't even packed your HeatTech shit yet. That should have been the first thing," Jungwoo says, waving his hand in front of Mark's face again. "That and your hats."

Mark feels a little like he's in one of those movie scenes with movie-star actors staking out a place and their "disguise" consists of shades and a baseball cap, as if their bulging muscles and big builds don't give them away. The Rock can't hide the fact that he's The Rock under a baseball cap. But Mark's not The Rock by any means; surely, he'll be able to slip through the airport and into New York much more unobtrusively, right?

🍂🍂🍂

"Hyung, no matter what you hear, do not turn this car around, okay?" Mark says, trembling in the backseat. He feels like he's already in the air, somehow, soaring through the skies, untethered from Earth, and not like he's about to make an agonizing phone call.

He thought the stress of escaping the SM building without being clocked by sasaengs was bad, but it was merely a prelude to this whole-body anxiety.

"Okay, Mark," Jong-hoon says, giving him a glance in the rearview mirror and smiling. "I won't listen to your call anyway."

"Don't turn around even if I ask you to," Mark clarifies. "Seriously, hyung, just keep going."

"Understood."

Mark sucks down a lungful of air, closes his eyes momentarily to steady himself, and presses the call button.

His mom picks up after just one ring, and she sounds like she's busy with dinner, given the muffled instructions he hears her give his dad to check the pan on the stove. "Hi, honey!"

"Is this a bad time?" he asks on instinct, despite the fact that he's barreling toward Incheon in the backseat Jong-hoon's girlfriend's car, only forty minutes or so left in the drive. There is literally no other time to tell her he's leaving, unless he wants to do it once he's already landed, and Mark's already stretched his nerves and guilt as far as they'll go. If he doesn't man up and tell his mom the truth, after putting it off for so long, he'll be the worst son ever born.

"No, no, you're fine," she says. His mother is his mother, so she knows from his tone that this call is serious. "What are you doing tonight? Did you eat dinner?"

"I snacked a little while ago," Mark says. Jong-hoon winds them through a patch of rough road and rougher drivers, braking a few times, and Mark makes sure his satchel doesn't go careening from the seat next to him onto the floor. "Uh, I kinda have something to tell you, and I'm not… sure how to do it? Like, it's nothing bad, I don't think, it's just. It's weird, Eomma. And kind out of nowhere."

There's a small pause, but his mother's voice is only slightly dubious when she answers, "Minhyung, you know I always want you to be honest. If you say it isn't bad, I believe you."

"Right. Ah, so, I've got my new lawyer working on the contract thing, and that's just… in development, I guess, it could take a little while."

"That's good, that you're working on that," she says slowly, like she's trying to figure out what could possibly be coming next.

"And in the meantime, you know, I've been talking to Johnny a lot…" He trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand because of course the late-night fake conversations he had with himself in his head have all abandoned him; all the words he thought he could use to convince her that what he's doing is fine, and safe, and not _really weird_ refuse to be summoned.

"Yes," she says, prompting him gently.

"Uh, he suggested I should take a vacation, while this is all up in the air and my schedule is dead."

This time, there's silence.

Mark closes his eyes, sends half a prayer, and says, "He invited me to chill with him in NYC, and it's on super short notice, but it's the only window he could get off work, so uh, I booked the ticket. And I'm going. It's only for a week! It's gonna be really low-key. And the band knows, and the company. Yeah."

So Mark's lying a little, technically, which was not on his agenda at all, but that bullshit excuse about Johnny's work came out of his mouth without his brain clearing it first. Now he's a layer deeper in a hell of his own making. Shit, this is why Mark tries not to lie; he only makes it worse for himself trying to clean up the mess.

"Lee Minhyung, you called me to tell me you're taking a vacation? I thought I was going to wake up to some scandal tomorrow," she says, and while she's not _laughing_ , exactly, there's a note of exasperated humor in her voice. "Ei! Next time, just tell me whatever it is, don't set me up for a heart attack." She chuffs into the line, and Mark hears some rattling in the background. Despite what she said, he knows he interrupted cooking dinner at a crucial point. "When are you going? Do you need to shop for anything?"

"Uhhh, here's the thing," Mark says. He laughs, a little unsteadily. "I'm going… now."

"Now? _Now_?"

"Yeah, Jong-hoon is driving me. Um, that's why it's weird. Because it's so sudden." Mark can feel Jong-hoon's judgy eyes on him in the rearview, even if that lying jerk promised he wouldn't listen.

Another silence, this one longer, tightening Mark's stomach and winding him up in a coil of tension. "It is weird," she agrees flatly. "Did you order the ticket _this morning_? What is going through your head, Minhyung?"

"Not a lot at the moment, honestly," Mark confesses. "Panic! Lots of panic. But Eomma, I promise I thought about this, I'm being as safe as possible. Jong-hoon reminded me to get a great precheck setup and Johnny's meeting me at JFK. And like, maybe I could get some kind of local security in case I need it, you know—"

His mother sighs heavily, interrupting Mark's decline into outright babbling. "Don't panic and ruin your trip. Just… next time, please, pick up the phone and talk to me _before_ you book plane tickets."

Mark doesn't know what he expected, but it wasn't this. His body is still rigid and jittery with anxiety, his leg bouncing in the confined space of the backseat as he shakes it out of nervous habit. But his mom isn't freaking out; she's not a big crier, and certainly not a big yeller, but he's seen her spin out with stress before. "Oh man, promise. Listen, I know it seems like I'm having some kind of rebellious thing, or not thinking things through, but this is all I've thought about for ages. I feel like I need to get out of the company bubble for a little while and just chill. Take time to reassess.

"When you and Appa asked me what I wanted from the contract renewal, I didn't really know? But I've been thinking about it, and talking to the new lawyer about it, and it's starting to, like, take shape. I think some other stuff might slide into place if I can get a break. Get outside of it. Feed some birds in Central Park, hang out with people who aren't in the industry, just like. Be a semi-normal person for a week."

"Don't feed the birds, it's bad for them," she says. He hears a suppressed sigh in her voice, and Mark reminds himself that this is not the worst thing a kid can do to a parent. It's a vacation, and some white lies about when he booked said vacation.

"Well, I hope you have fun, Mark-yah," his father's voice says out of nowhere, and Mark almost yelps.

"Oh my Jesus—Eomma, did you have me on speaker the whole time?"

"Of course I did! I've got my hands full with dinner. What, did you want to have this conversation twice?"

His father laughs. "You should see if your cousins are still in the area. I can message them on Facebook for you," he offers.

"No, don't worry about it," Mark says, picturing his poor adult cousins trying to make sense of his dad's overenthusiastic messaging style. "I'll bug them myself. But honestly, I don't think I'll even get to Queens on this trip."

"Where is Johnny located?" his appa asks.

"Upper Manhattan. Morningside Heights."

Belatedly, Mark realizes he said all of this shit _in front of Jong-hoon_ , who he was trying to keep in the dark on the slim chance he'd tell the company. He almost laughs; of course this would happen. Of course Mark can't keep a secret even with a plan and a head start.

"Send me his address and phone number," his mom says. "And you text me when you land."

"Yeah, and I'll send my lawyer's info to you too, in case he needs something at the house." His dad's office has two massive file cabinets filled with Mark stuff: some of it his old school assignments, his sad attempts at drawing, old song lyrics he would have trashed otherwise, but a good portion is paperwork from when Mark was a trainee. "But like I said, it's just a week. I'll be back before you know it."

"You should have gone for Thanksgiving," his mom says, sounding thoughtful. "But I bet Johnny goes home to celebrate with his family."

"Probably," Mark says, though he doesn't know or care what Johnny does for a holiday Mark hasn't thought about in years.

His mom and dad putter around finishing preparing dinner, offering Mark suggestions for things to do in Manhattan, reminders of ways to stay safe during travel, like he isn't the one who has to do it all the time in the first place. It's a relatively normal conversation given the super not normal subject matter, and while Mark hears a strain in his mother's voice, it's not something he can bring up. She's letting him have this, though he suspects he'll get an earful once he's home.

"Safe travels, my son," his father says cheerfully, and his mother tells him she loves him in a grave voice, then snaps out of it and says, "I'm sure you'll have a great time. I'm glad you're going to be with Johnny. He's always looked out for you."

"Love you too, Mom. I'm—glad too, that we're friends again."

Mark ends the call and slumps against the seat. His leg is still bouncing, and he thinks he might have been grinding his teeth at one point, but it's over and done, and it went okay. It went _well_ according to the expectations he started with.

"So," Jong-hoon says into the quiet, otherwise only broken by the fast clip of wheels over asphalt, the wind rushing past the closed window. His GPS says they're thirty minutes out now. "That went well?"

"Oh my God, just drive, you horrible snoop," Mark says, but he feels like he might start smiling. They're getting closer and closer, and while Mark has a painfully long stretch of travel in front of him, he feels like his destination is in reach now.

↩️↩️↩️

"Come on, hurry up and put this on," Ten whispers, shoving a massive grey jacket in Mark's hands while dragging him out of the building. "That freaking jacket is like a giant sign that screams, 'Look at me.'"

Mark's trying to catch his breath, pulling the jacket on over his SOPA uniform and running to catch up to Ten. "Hold on, hold on!" he says, zipping the jacket up and pulling the hood over his head. "Where are we even going?"

Ten glances back at him with a Cheshire Cat smile, tugging on Mark's wrist as they round the corner. "You're running yourself ragged between practice and classes. I'm taking you out."

"In the middle of a school day?" Mark nearly yells incredulously, laughing despite himself.

"Yes, in the middle of a school day," Ten says, finally slowing down now that they've reached the bottom of the ramp. "Besides, we know this school's kind of fucked. I'm glad you're graduating in a few months."

Ten's never hidden the fact that he's thought the School of Performing Arts to be kind of shady, between the last-minute announcements of them having to perform at insurance salesmen dinner parties, and the rumors about the corruption within the administration, but this is the first time that Ten's actually done anything of this sort—sneaking Mark out of class, playing hookie like he imagines his friends in Toronto have done.

It's hard to deny that there's a thrill that runs through him, walking alongside Ten, who looks around the area, and then back at his phone, his Apple Maps open with a little blue line leading them to some destination Mark isn't familiar with.

"What's going on, Ten-hyung?" Mark asks, his backpack hanging from his hand.

"I'm taking you on an adventure," Ten says while they walk along the red-bricked sidewalk of Sung-dong. "Because God knows you'd never take yourself on one. _High School Rapper_ , dance practice on weekends, your break up, rap classes with Taeyong, and splitting yourself between Dream and 127—when was the last time you went somewhere for fun, evil twin?" Ten slings his arm around Mark's shoulder. "When was the last time you broke the rules a little?"

"There's only one evil twin here and I know that isn't me, man," Mark laughs, but he relaxes as they make their way down the sloping street. They walk past small stores and patches of grass with clusters of tiny flowering bushes, the crisp October air blowing through their hair. Ten's dressed in just a black overcoat and black jeans, his face hidden from view with a white bucket hat on. No one would expect to see them around here.

"Come on," Ten says, checking his phone again. "This is the first and only time I'm breaking you out. We're gonna go get kimchi ppang and you're going to bitch to me about how heartbroken you are over Yeona, and I'm gonna tell you all about how boys are stupid and then we're gonna get dessert. And no, you will not be able to convince me that watermelon is worth it."

Mark throws his head back in laughter and follows Ten's lead. He's studied here for years and has never explored around the area, though it's quiet for the most part, small streets and parking lots scattered throughout the neighborhood. They make a right and walk onto cracked concrete sidewalks and asphalt that needs to be touched up. This is nice, Mark thinks. He feels almost like a normal guy.

"There isn't much to talk about," Mark says, his voice cracking a little. "I mean, about Yeona."

"You guys dated for like a year. You're telling me you're not crying to sleep over her?" Ten asks, and even if half his face is obscured by his bucket hat, Mark knows he's raising his eyebrow at him.

Mark purses his lips. "I mean I'm sad, yeah, but like… I dunno, man, I guess I knew it was probably not gonna last. We barely got to see each other."  
  
"Does a lack of physical closeness make a relationship less real to you, Markie?" Ten asks, lighthearted despite it being a loaded question.

Mark's a little stumped. It hadn't been ideal, but they'd made do with what they could. "No, no, it's not that. It's more like, I guess we both always sort of knew it wouldn't come to anything. It was hard enough when we were both dealing with our schedules and the stupid dating rule."

Mark shoves his hands into his pockets, trying to ignore the sliver of hurt that still exists inside his chest, even if it's only a dull ache now.

Ten sighs and slings his arm under Mark's.

"We're always gonna have to carve out the freedoms we want to take for ourselves, you know that," Ten says. "You are allowed to do that. Even if the company tells you you can't. Even if your annoying inner voice tells you you can't. You just have to be patient."

Mark nods, not quite sure what to respond to that. He's always looked up to Ten, even when they were still trainees. Ten's the only other one he can still speak comfortably in English with, even if the both of them grapple with language once in a while.

They finally arrive at a little market where the air fills with the smell of fried oil and onions and a sweet, burnt aroma of what Mark's sure is croissant boong-uh-ppang. It isn't too crowded in this part of the city, and Ten's pulling him over to the closest stall next to them, rows of grilled cheese lobster on blackened racks next to a stove.

"Is she okay, though?" Ten asks. "Have you spoken since?"

"Yeah, we like, I dunno, cleared the air," Mark replies, peering in closer to see the gloss of the sauce over some fried bread he isn't familiar with. "She's going back home to Daegu."

"Oh," Ten says.

Mark sighs, and pulls Ten's sleeve so they can check out the tteokbokki stall. "Yeah, I know."

"It's a little terrifying to think of that happening, isn't it?" Ten says. "It's not something I've ever allowed myself to imagine. At least not after the Rookies."

"What do you mean?"

"Going back home after everything we've put into _this,_ " Ten says, waving his hand around between the two of them. "Especially when we're still really just getting started."

"Yeah, bro, I can't imagine it either," Mark replies, finally spotting the stall with the kimchi ppang, the big golden buns clearly fresh from the oven, laid out in silver trays.

Mark admires Ten's patience, his tenacity despite the crippling news that NCT China was delayed once again because of political tensions that are well beyond the company's control at the moment. Fixed unit aside, Ten and Taeyong have NCT U coming soon, and the talks about a joint project between all the subunits seem to be on the horizon.

Ten's knee's finally cooperating with him, healed up without any issues since last year's surgery, and Ten's back to walking as fast as he usually does. Mark's heart always swells to see it, the lack of hesitancy in his steps.

"Big, big things coming for us, baby. Things that'll take your mind off your little broken heart," Ten says, paying for two pork buns and handing one to Mark. He tips his head back far enough that Mark can see his eyes. "It's so close I can taste it," he says with a wink, biting into the bread. "Mmmm, God, that's good. See? Sometimes breaking the rules just makes things a little sweeter."

Mark huffs out a breath, shakes his head fondly, and bites into his own kimchi pork bun.

Ten's right—it really does taste sweeter.

↪️↪️↪️

Mark wakes up to the soft, pleasant voice of the flight attendant, the Tiffany-blue of her jacket blurry as Mark blinks sleep from his eyes.

"Excuse me, sir, we will be serving dinner soon," she says. "Will you be having rib eye?"

Mark sits up from where he'd been reclined at an odd angle in his suite, legs splayed out on the cushion, and his blanket and neck pillow bunched uncomfortably under his head. "Oh, ah, sorry, yes, I'll be having the steak."

She nods and asks for his drink preference before leaving to carry his order out. He's a little disoriented still, and the screen fixed in front of him tells him that the time in New York City is 6:24 p.m. They've got only about two more hours to go, and the sky outside the window has turned a dusty peach-pink.

He's a little exhausted from conversation with his mom, and the stress of having gone through security, check-in, and immigration while furtively hoping against hope that his face wouldn't get photographed while he was on Korean soil. Not that it would have stopped him from getting on the plane, but it does make the prospect of unwinding during a vacation a little less feasible. Unless he decides to hole himself up in Johnny's apartment for a week, that is.

The food arrives and is arranged neatly on the fold-out table in front of him, but he finds that he's not entirely hungry, his stomach churning a little from nerves, at the fact that, in a few hours, he's going to be reunited with Johnny—someone who knew him at the start of his career, back when they all used to share the same dreams, and struggle with the same things, but who he now barely knows a thing about.

Mark kind of wishes he had in-flight WiFi, if only so he could maybe text Johnny or something, calm him down. He knows, objectively,that there really isn't any reason to be nervous! It's not like Mark's never met him before, and it's not like he hasn't had his fair share of having to adjust to meeting new people on the job. And even when things were a little awkward at the start, Mark likes to think that he's comfortable enough talking to Johnny that making the transition from text to calls to hanging out in person shouldn't be too jarring.

It's just that he knows sometimes things that seem great in one aspect don't actually end up being all that good or seamless in another, like how he and Yangyang are fire in the recording studio together, but Mark still kind of has to get a feel for him and his humor when they're outside of it, not that that's necessarily a bad thing.

He finishes off his food slowly, unwilling to let any morsel go to waste considering how much his fucking ticket cost. By the time he finishes freshening up in the cabin restroom by washing his face with warm water, brushing his teeth, putting on more deodorant, and changing into a different T-shirt, the captain is announcing the preparation for their descent.

Mark straps himself in when the seatbelt sign comes on again, and he stares out the window. Normally, he'd have his camera on, recording himself or the other members dozing off, or frowning at their phones while they play or watch a movie. Right now, all Mark has is his music filtering through his earbuds, and for once he gets to land somewhere and not think about having to record every waking moment.

He feels the wheels of the plane make their loud, buzzy presence known, and the glittering lights of New York come into view as the craft begins to descend. Mark bites his lip, tapping his fingers onto his thigh in time with the bass beat of Lay's latest title track, and closes his eyes to brace himself for landing—something that still kind of fucks with him, his fear of heights and fear of falling coming full force whenever he touches down anywhere.

The landing is smooth, the plane speeding up and then coasting to a stop in a matter of minutes. His grip on his armrests relaxes as he opens his eyes and sees people beginning to unbuckle themselves from their seats, gathering their belongings and standing up to disembark.

Mark takes a deep breath, folds the blanket neatly, and sets it on his seat before standing up and pulling out a fresh mask from his backpack. He fixes it safely over his ears and plops his black bucket hat over his hair. This is the second major hurdle: getting through immigration quickly, getting his luggage, and finally, finally, meeting Johnny again.

He can feel how swollen his feet are in his sneakers, and he's looking forward to a bath, but as he steps out of the plane and walks into the airport, the cold air conditioning hitting his face like a slap, Mark feels himself sort of buzz to life. He strides quickly, following the signs that lead to Immigration, his passport already in his pocket while he fiddles with his phone, changing the settings and waiting for his roaming to kick in and the carrier service to change to—there it is. T-Mobile. Perfect. His world clock automatically registers 8:47 p.m.

Messages flood into his inbox, and Mark ignores all of them in order to toggle to Johnny's name.

**[Johnny Suh 4:10 p.m.]  
** _> God I just realized I haven't had first class food in forever  
_ _> I bet you're gonna have the rib eye_

**[Johnny Suh 6:32 p.m.]  
** _> I'm on the way to the airport! Traffic is bad as usual but I should be there about an hour before you land  
_ _> I stopped at shake shack to grab dinner, got you an extra burger juuuust in case the bougie airplane food wasn't up to par lol_

**[Johnny Suh 7:40 p.m.]  
** _> I'm here! There doesn't seem to be any delays for your flight so it's looking good  
_ _> Sorry I'm just like really excited lmao_

**[Johnny Suh 8:22 p.m.]  
** _> I'm just loitering at arrivals, won't be hard to miss me as I have printed a massive sign with your face on it hahaha  
_ _> Just kidding  
_ _> See you! _

Mark laughs at the last one before sending off a "Landed already! Text you after I get my luggage" both to Johnny and his mother. As he stands in line for his turn at immigration, he manages to catch up on the 52 messages waiting for him, the 127 group chat a minefield of Jungwoo's baffling memes, Taeil's stories about the training he'd done and how he misses his home gym, and several messages that tag him with "land safely!," Yuta's "bring me shake shack or you're dead to me", and Taeyong's measured, "Please tell Johnny we send our regards."

**[Me 9:01 p.m.]  
** _> Landed already! I'll text you guys later  
_ _> Yuta-hyung I can't bring back shake shack_

**[Yuta oppa 9:02 p.m.]  
** _> Then don't bother coming back _

**[Zeus 9:02 p.m.]  
** _> @Yuta hyung shut UP_

Mark laughs before the message from Johnny pops up, an excited "OKAY COOL!!!!" the only response he gets before he has to pocket his phone, pull his hat and mask off, and step up to the austere, bored-looking immigration officer who asks for his passport.

She takes one look at his details, scans it, looks at his picture, then at him, and then asks him to look into the camera, sign on the tiny tablet next to it, and says in the flattest tone ever, "Welcome to New York."

Mark tells her to have a good night and walks through, taking the escalators down to baggage claim, hoping that it doesn't take forever the way it had last time he set foot in this airport almost eight months prior on their last tour.

There's only a bit of a wait, it seems, because by the time he reaches the conveyor belt, it's begun to move, and within minutes, he sees his red hard-shell Rimowa lying on its side, years of old, faded luggage-tag residue leaving it looking beaten up and nondescript.

He pulls it off the moving belt and pops the handle up, checking once more that he has his passport in his bag and his phone in his hand before searching around and wheeling his luggage over toward the exit. The white floor and silver railings guide his way, his feet speeding up as the automatic doors slide open.

There Johnny is, standing right outside in his leather jacket and his hand in his pocket, black slingback strapped across his chest.

It's the first time he's seen Johnny in person in _six years_. Mark would know him anywhere, yet he looks like a totally different person. It doesn't matter, though, that he's bigger and broader, and Mark knows he's changed from their long hours of conversations; he's the same person Mark used to follow around like a duckling, who reminded him of home, who _became_ his home in many ways, until he left.

God, his heart is jackhammering in his chest. It's real. It's happening.

As Mark walks into the frigid November air, Johnny looks up. Mark opens his mouth and gets out an excited "Johnny!"

In return, he gets the wind knocked out of him, squeezed tight in a hug that smells like leather and Johnny's cologne, something woody and a little herby. Mark squeezes him back, and he lets out an _oof_ as he's picked up off his feet and spun around. Mark basically yells in Johnny's ear in surprise, holding on for dear life.

It happens so quickly and so suddenly that he's back on the ground before he can even fully register it, and Johnny is pulling back with his hands on Mark's shoulders, his face completely in awe.

"Holy fucking shit, Mark Lee," Johnny laughs, and then claps him on the shoulders twice before stepping back. "I cannot believe you're for real here."

Mark's kind of in a state of shock because Johnny Suh through Instagram filters and shitty front cameras on cell phones don't do the man justice. He looks a bit like he's walked out of _Vogue Korea_ , and Mark thinks for a moment that it's wildly unfair how handsome and dressed up Johnny is, while Mark's just in his bucket hat and hoodie, his face obscured by the mask he has on.

"I—honestly can't believe I'm here, either," Mark says, unable to contain his smile.

"Lemme help you with that," Johnny says, his hand reaching for the handle of Mark's luggage. He must sense that Mark's about to tell him he can handle it on his own because Johnny says, "Dude, you've just gotten off a fifteen-hour flight, and you're my _guest._ I'm good with lugging this to the car."

"Okay, okay," Mark says, following him. "Jesus, it's colder than I thought it would be." Mark shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, fielding the breeze that blows through the car park.

"Don't worry, I'll turn up the heating in the car, which should be— Ah, here we go," Johnny says, leading Mark to a black Ford sedan and popping the trunk, lifting Mark's luggage as easily as he had lifted Mark himself. "Food's in the back seat."

After Johnny slams the trunk closed, Mark pulls the door open and settles in the passenger seat, reaching back to pluck the brown paper bag with the stamped on logo, holding it out to snap a photo of it. He can see Johnny looking at him, amused, from the corner of his eye, so he says, "Yuta had one request: for me to take Shake Shack back home for him. He's gonna be so pissed about this."

Mark sends off the message to the group chat. Instead of sending a reply there, Yuta initiates a video call.

"Oh my God," Johnny laughs when Mark shows him the caller ID. "Go on, answer it, see what he has to say."

"MARK," Yuta barks, Mark's phone screen much too bright for how dark it is in the carpark. "Do you have to taunt me like that? How is— Wait! Show me Johnny-yah!"

Johnny leans in closer, his elbow resting on the center console so he can get in frame. Mark can smell his cologne again, tickling his nose pleasantly.

"Hi, Yuta!" Johnny says, raising a hand to say hello.

"Look at you, Johnny-yah! You look like a model," Yuta says loudly. It's clear he's still in bed. "Take care of our Markie or else I will murder you, don't think I won't!"

"I quite value my life," Johnny says, pushing his hair back with his hand. "So yeah, I'll take care of him."

"Thanks," Mark deadpans before Yuta says, "Okayyyy, enjoy, you two," and it doesn't escape Mark, how suggestive it sounds, but Johnny doesn't seem to notice, doesn't even miss a beat before he says, "We will. Bye, Yuta!" and then Mark's saying his own farewells.

Johnny's eyes are still crickled up at the sides, a small smile on his face as he sticks the key in the ignition and starts the car.

"So," Johnny says, turning the heat up like he'd said, and glancing at Mark. "You ready to blend in with the locals, Mark Lee?"

Mark bites his lip. One week where he can feel like a real, regular person.

"Yeah," Mark whoops, slapping his thighs with his palms, drumming on them excitedly. "Let's get it!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of material about contracts in this chapter, and while we did basically just Make It Up for the fic (and try to keep things vague), I did want to note that the FTC in Korea did step in to force the big K-pop companies to amend their shittier clauses in 2017. [Here's](http://www.moonrok.com/korean-ftc-amend-unfair-terms-standard-kpop-trainee-contracts/) [some](https://www.asianjunkie.com/2017/03/07/ftc-regulates-6-unfair-terms-in-korean-entertainment-company-contracts/) [articles](https://variety.com/2017/artisans/asia/korea-talent-management-agencies-ordered-to-end-slave-contracts-1202005310/) about it! There's also some rumors going around that SM has the most unfair profit distribution in the industry, and the fic presumes that as well. Please keep in mind, though, that we aren't in the industry, aren't lawyers or contract experts, and actually have no idea what's in SM's actual contracts with their artists.
> 
> Also, the bit about SOPA's (Mark's old school) corruption is also rooted in reality. [Here's an article detailing the students who spoke out in 2019.](http://www.thekrazemagazine.com/latest-updates/2019/3/2/students-of-sopa-speak-out-against-corruption)
> 
> Follow us on Twitter: 🐍 is [@sneakethsnek](https://twitter.com/sneakethsnek) and 🐱 is [@johnnyseo_paws](https://twitter.com/johnnyseo_paws).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🐱: Hello hello! We are finally in NYC! Please know that this is another Meaty Boi but we swear... it's all important! 😄 This is Mark's Week of Realizing Things, after all. A lot of my sections were drawn from my trips to NYC, so this is me giving a little kiss to one of the cities I miss the most. 
> 
> My eternal thanks as always to sneaky, whose parts in this are the parts that made me the giddiest. I love this chapter to bits and we hope you like it, too! ❤️
> 
> 🐍: I hope everyone is well!!!! Thank you to my usual darling Tay for the beta, and for Mon for being a true baller and knocking out 10k in like a day and a half somehow??? I literally COULD NOT do this without you. <3

"Elevator's out of commission right now, I'm sorry," Johnny says as he closes the thick glass door behind him and hauls Mark's luggage into the small lobby of his apartment. His leather jacket is draped around the silver handle that's up and extended. "But I live on the third floor, so it's not gonna be too difficult to get up."

The first floor is devoid of people, just a couple of doors to the right of the entrance, and one to the left that mysteriously has "Magic Fingers" emblazoned on the door above a faded brass 101 and the peephole. Mark raises his eyebrow at the suggestive name, and Johnny catches his eye before laughing.

"Yeah, it's supposed to be a massage parlor, but I'm pretty sure it's straight-up sex work," Johnny whispers, rolling the luggage over to the stairs. "They're really nice, though, so no one has bothered to have the authorities look into it."

Mark laughs before trying to reach for his baggage, but Johnny lifts it up mad easy, his biceps flexing as his arms strain under the weight. It's enough to stop Mark in his tracks. He seems to keep forgetting that even if Johnny isn't an idol, he's somehow managed to maintain an idol's body. There's a mild pang of regret that lodges itself somewhere around where Mark thinks his liver is. Johnny would probably have been a crowd favorite if he hadn't left.

They make their way up the two flights of stairs, passing by a door where the music blares from inside, some heavy metal shit that Mark's certain is loud enough to be breaking the rules this late in the evening. Johnny walks past it nonchalantly until he reaches the end of the rectangular hallway, the yellow fluorescent light overhead guiding them.

"Does the noise bother you?" Mark asks, hearing an admittedly sick guitar solo filter into the hallway as Johnny pulls a ring of keys out of his sling bag.

Johnny throws a glance over his shoulder before sticking the key into the doorknob. "Oh? Mason? Yeah, no, he's harmless," Johnny says. "He's pretty good about not going past midnight when he's working on new shit, so it'll be quiet enough soon."

Mark smiles to himself, remembering the woes Hendery mentioned to him when they'd been trying to soundproof their apartment. And to think that WayV doesn't even make music that remotely resembles the hard rock Johnny's neighbor seems to be fond of shredding.

He isn't sure what he expected Johnny's place to look like, really. It's modest, the door to the one bedroom to his right as he takes his shoes off and follows Johnny into the apartment. The soft hum of the wheels of his Rimowa on Johnny's floor is the only sound before Johnny parks it beside the couch that's already been pulled out and made up with navy blue bedding, three pillows, and a massive whale plushie.

"This is Blue," Johnny says, like he's introducing his pet. "He'll keep you company. Very good with house guests. Newly laundered, too," he says with a smile.

It's only really hitting Mark just now that he's here—in Johnny's apartment in New York City, thousands of kilometers away from his dorm room in Seoul, quite literally on the other side of the world in more ways than one.

He trails after Johnny as he gives him a quick tour of the place, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, his brain and body trying to absorb everything.

"Dude, I'm serious when I say that I want you to make yourself at home here, okay?" Johnny says as they enter the small kitchen. The layout is a little strange, not exactly the square four walls Mark had imagined, but he's recognizing the place more and more from the backgrounds he's seen in Johnny's selcas and in the times they've been on video call while Johnny was at home.

"Okay, I'll try," Mark huffs under his breath, not quite sure how to actually go about making himself at home in someone else's place. He's been to Chenle’s house, and Renjun's, as well as Doyoung's the handful of times they'd gone to visit the Kims for Chuseok, but Mark's always done his best to be as unobtrusive in someone else's space as possible.

Johnny opens the door of the fridge and Mark steps back before peering into it, the shelves filled to the brim with what appears to be a whole bunch of leafy greens, tomatoes, three cartons of milk with different labels (Mark is pretty sure one of them is almond), cold cuts, and other things that are locked in neat glass containers. There's something that looks suspiciously like cut-up watermelon in several of them. He makes a note to ask about it later.

Johnny rubs the back of his neck, smiling at him sheepishly. "I kind of went crazy at Trader Joe's last night 'cause I wasn't sure, like, what you like to eat? We can get more tomorrow if you want, but help yourself to whatever when you get hungry."

Mark is overwhelmed by the hospitality, but not surprised by it. Johnny's been buzzing and eager about Mark's trip here since he'd booked the ticket on a whim, and Mark can't help but allow the giddiness to envelop him as well. "Thanks, Johnny. This is—so much."

"I know, I know, I'm going overboard a little, but—" Johnny shrugs, throwing his hands out to the side, palms up. "I still can't believe you're really here, man." There's a sense of wonder in Johnny's voice that feels like it captures exactly how Mark feels at the moment. At least he isn't alone in this.

Johnny sort of physically shakes himself out of it, though, and asks brightly, "Anyway, how do you feel about coffee? Tea? Hot cocoa? You can go wash up first and change into something comfier while I make some."

God, a hot shower does sound incredible right about now.

"Yeah, I'll do that," Mark says. "Thanks again, man. And uh, yeah, hot cocoa would be nice."

"Gotcha!" Johnny says, reaching into a pantry that Mark's pretty sure he won't be able to reach on his own. "There are towels in the bathroom; feel free to use them. If you don't have any shampoo or whatever, you can use mine, too. There's shower gel and everything."

"This is better service than I've ever gotten at any of the hotels we stayed at," Mark laughs, hoping his voice carries through the hall as he heads back to the living room to kick his suitcase over and pop it open.

"That's the objective this week, Markie," Johnny says.

Mark settles on the floor and pushes the hardshell case open, digging around for his basketball shorts and one of the loose t-shirts he'd brought along as house clothes before he sees his phone light up.

**[Mom 11:54 p.m.]  
** _> Lee Minhyung please update me  
_ _> I know you're an adult and you've travelled the world twice over etc. but you don't have any managers right now so you're gonna have to keep me posted once in a while  
_ _> Are you safe? Are you at Johnny's already?  
_ _> Don't make me have to call Johnny_

Mark scrambles to find the call icon, the line ringing twice before Mark's mother picks up.

"Finally!" Mark's mom says, flustered.

"Eomma, please relax," Mark tries to say placatingly, pressing his phone to his ear with his shoulder. "Yeah, we just got to Johnny's."

"Is it too embarrassing if I ask to see him?" she asks, and Mark feels his face burn like he's ten years old being interrogated about sleeping over at David and Charlie's back when they still lived in Toronto.

"Eomma!" Mark hisses, and he does his very best not to whine in embarrassment, even if Johnny can't hear what she's saying.

"Okay, okay, no need to be prickly," she says. "Just send some pics when you can. I'd like to see him. I still remember him from before, you know."

Johnny walks back into the living room as she says this, and Mark, hearing the tone of her voice, sighs deeply and pulls the phone away from his ear, trying to cover the microphone with his other hand.

"Hey, would you mind if my mom video called? She wants to say hi," Mark whispers loudly.

Johnny smiles big and easy and takes the three steps to sit next to Mark on the wooden floor. "Yeah, I'd love to."

"Eomma," Mark says, interrupting whatever small tirade she'd launched into. "I'm gonna turn the camera on. Johnny's gonna say hi."

"Oh, wait, hold on—hold on, Minhyung!"

There's a pause on the line, and Mark glances at Johnny apologetically, but Johnny shakes his head and mouths, "It's fine," while he leans on his hands, his long, jean-clad legs crossed under him.

"Okay, I'm ready," his mom says, before Mark presses the icon, his screen coming to life, his mother on the other end of it.

"Did you put lipstick on just now—"

"Hush! Hello, Johnny!" his mother says, cooing into the camera too closely, as if that will help her see them better. Mark angles the camera to face Johnny.

"Hello, Mrs. Lee, you're looking younger than the last time I saw you," Johnny says in Korean, and Mark has to stop himself from rolling his eyes as Johnny lays it on thick. He was always the mom's favorite among the parents of the other trainees. His own mother in particular doted on Johnny a little more than the other rookies, at least as far as Mark can recall. Maybe it was because he was also very far from his home in North America, and he didn't have his parents with him like Mark did.

"Oh, psh, please, you don't need to flatter me, Johnny," she replies in accented English, rusty from disuse. "But my goodness, you've grown into such a handsome man! Thank you so much for taking Mark in. He's been so stressed—Ah, sorry, I'll hold my tongue. I'm sure Mark's told you enough. In any case, thank you again. I hope you both have a good vacation."

"I'll take care of him, Mrs. Lee, I promise," Johnny says, lifting two fingers in the air. "Scout's honor!"

"I don't think you're allowed to say that unless you were actually a boy scout," Mark says quietly before directing his attention back to the smiling lady on his screen. "Okay, Eomma, you've gotten your proof of life. I'll text you tomorrow. Tell Appa I said hello."

"Okay, goodnight, honey! Goodbye, Johnny," she says, waving enthusiastically as her face begins to pixelate from the connection. "It's so good to see you again."

"Bye, love you," Mark says, before ending the call and tossing the phone onto the bed. "Oh my Jesus, I am so sorry, that was so fucking embarrassing."

"Hey, no, it really was nice seeing her again," Johnny says, and his voice is so warm, Mark has little room to doubt him. "Anyway, I came to ask what kind of hot chocolate you liked? I've got the Swiss Miss stuff but I also have this, like, artisanal organic"—Johnny makes air-quotes with his fingers—"chocolate that my cousin got me from the Philippines called tablea, though it's a lot more bitter."

Mark weighs his options, figuring he doesn't exactly wanna waste the drink if he doesn't like it, so he opts to err on the side of safety, at least for tonight, and says, "Yeah, I'll stick with the Swiss Miss, man."

"Okay, cool," Johnny says, chipper.

They both rise from the floor, Mark gathering his change of clothes and following Johnny back through the tiny hallway leading to the kitchen. He notes the bathroom is right next to it.

"The heater should be fine, but holler if it makes you freeze your balls off," Johnny says, filling a silver kettle with water from the tap.

"Hopefully it doesn't come to that," Mark replies, hoping very much that he won't end up getting shocked by the water and slipping in Johnny's bathtub and braining himself on the porcelain on his first night here. It would fully be his luck.

He locks the door behind him and drops his clothes onto the toilet seat cover that he's flipped down. Johnny's bathroom is more spacious than he'd expected for a New York apartment, though he figures that a lot of what he does know about Manhattan is built on the media he's consumed, and the few times they'd rented out houses for their tour stops here.

He remembers their Brooklyn house and how they'd all squeezed into one room to film for their vlog. The bathrooms there had been smaller than this one. He strips off his clothes, folding them neatly so that he can set them aside later. He'll have to ask Johnny what the laundry situation is, since Mark doesn't see any sort of washing machine in here.

The tiles are cold on the soles of his feet once he's freed them of his socks, but there seems to be a pipe in the far corner of the trapezoid-shaped bathroom that has heat emanating from it. There are a couple of boxer briefs hanging near it from a hanger that's hooked onto the window latch.

Mark pulls the opaque shower curtains back, leans over the bathtub, and turns the knobs. He presses on the big circle button that indicates that the heater is on and lets the water run from the showerhead, holding his hand under the spray waiting for the frigid cold to turn into something less icy before he finally steps into it. The water steadily becomes warmer and warmer until it's just shy of scalding.

"God," Mark mutters to himself, bowing his head under the water. "What a day."

Mark closes his eyes, the water sluicing through his hair, down his neck. The water pressure is incredible, beating a rhythm on his back, and Mark feels himself relax, truly relax, for the first time in what feels like months.

Outside the door, even through the sound of the water running overhead, Mark hears Johny's kettle go off, a high-pitched whistle that cuts through the noise around him. He takes a breath.

He doesn't have any solid schedules tomorrow. He doesn't have to answer to ten thousand other men making noise in the dorms or have Haechan insist on them gaming when he wants to sleep or Yuta dragging him out for coffee when he's knee-deep in working on a song. He doesn't know what Johnny's got planned for them for tomorrow, or for this week, really, but Mark isn't in any hurry. If anything, it's been nice, at least in the last couple of hours, to know that he doesn't feel any of the jitters he'd expected to feel around being with someone he hasn't seen face to face in six years.

Mark looks at the row of shampoo and body wash lining the wall on the silver ledge screwed into the tiles and sees an array of bottles from Bath & Body Works, Aveeno, and Aesop. There's a half-empty bottle of Jo Malone bath oil. He reaches for it to see what it smells like, and Mark recognizes the scent from where it lingered under Johnny's cologne.

He makes quick work of his shower, grateful that the shampoo Johnny uses seems to be friendly for colored hair, and reaches for one of the coconut-scented body washes, lathering off an entire day's worth of sweat and grime and weird airplane bacteria that's no doubt stuck to his skin and his clothes.

He finishes the shower feeling like he's gotten his shoulders massaged somehow, the pressure and the heat loosening his muscles enough to make him feel less of the strain that he normally carries around in his shoulder blades. Mark reaches out to the cabinet next to the bathtub for a fluffy towel that's probably as long as he is tall, which checks, considering how big Johnny is.

By the time he's gotten changed into his house clothes and pulling the door open, Johnny's already gotten changed as well. He's dressed in his Loyola shirt and grey sweats while he's seated at the little white table, two steaming mugs in front of him.

"Oh, hey, nice," Mark remarks, seeing the Hawkins logo on Johnny's thigh. "Taeil-hyung has the same pair."

Johnny looks up from his phone, his confusion morphing into a slow, easy smile. "That's cool. We did use to have, like, similar tastes back in the day. You good?"

Mark nods. "Yeah, let me just put these aside." He gestures to the bundle of clothes in his hands before padding over back to the living room, grabbing his phone, and heading back to join Johnny.

"Looks like we're in the clear for now," Johnny says, and Mark hears the tell-tale sound of the Twitter app refreshing. "I didn't see a single airport photo of you from today, just a lot from your last leg here. Good job, double-oh-seven. Nothing on Naver either."

Mark sags a bit in his seat. He hadn't even thought to look into that, but he's honestly so relieved that Johnny had enough foresight to check. He hasn't even properly updated the rest of the band yet since he's landed, though he figures Yuta will have told them not to worry given that he spoke with Johnny earlier. "Yo, thanks for checking for me. For real."

Johnny shoots him a little smile and nods.

"Are you a marshmallows kinda guy? Are you particular about your salt?" Johnny asks, and Mark's brain sort of comes screeching to a halt.

"Wait—what salt?" Mark asks, bringing his mug closer to him, raising his eyebrow at Johnny.

"Dude," Johnny says, affronted. "How do you not know about the salt thing?"

Mark has no fucking idea what Johnny is talking about, but he watches Johnny bring an airtight jar closer to him, pop the lid open, and take a pinch of salt.

"It helps bring the flavor out," Johnny whispers, his voice filled with false reverence as he Salt Bae's some of the granules into his own mug before stirring it with the teaspoon. "Here, you can try mine first, so that we don't fuck yours up if you don't like it."

Johnny holds his mug out with both hands, and Mark's fingers brush against Johnny's, warm at the momentary point of contact, before Mark brings it to his mouth and takes a sip.

If he's honest, he can't actually taste the difference, given that he hasn't had good old Swiss Miss in a long while, but Johnny looks eager, and Mark can't bring himself to shatter his expectations. It really is quite good, so who knows, the salt probably did something.

"Oh, that's _good_ , that's really good," Mark says, handing the mug back over to Johnny. "Let me—" Mark says, taking a small pinch as well and tossing it into his own drink.

They sit in silence for a while, sipping at their Swiss Miss. Mark worries that this is where the awkwardness is going to settle over them like a shroud, but Johnny smacks his lips after downing the rest of his hot chocolate and sets the mug down on the table.

"So what do you wanna do on your first day amongst the regular folk?" Johnny asks, leaning back in his seat, his shirt riding up to reveal a small sliver of tanned tummy.

Mark forces his eyes back up to meet Johnny's gaze. "Dude, honestly, I have no idea like—" Mark cuts off at a yawn, hastily trying to stifle it with his hand. "Sorry, I mean I don't actually know, there's so much to do and so many places to eat at."

Johnny huffs a short laugh and then rests his cheek in his hand, propping his arm on the table. "Okay, touristy or non-touristy?"

"Uhhhh, both?" Mark says. "I mean, I can set my alarm early—"

"You're on vacation, dude," Johnny interrupts. "No alarms if we can help it, yeah? Part of why you're here is 'cause you've got no reason not to sleep in."

Sleeping in isn't completely novel to Mark, but sleeping in in _New York City_ is not something he remembers doing in recent memory, and the thought of it is kind of nice, if trivial.

"Tell you what, how about we both sleep in tomorrow? We can head down to one of the cafes near Columbia for brunch or lunch, then make our way to a park or something. Take it easy for your first day. Sound good?"

Mark's entire body is still vaguely floating, the sensation never really leaving him that quickly no matter how many flights Mark's been on.

"Yeah, sounds good, I'd like that," Mark says. "Yo, can we do the Flatiron, too? Like I know it's just a building, but I've never actually seen it."

Johnny hums and nods. "Sure, we can go to Midtown. We'll do dinner in Eataly. It's nice there, a little crowded, but there're restaurants inside that are pretty dim, so we don't have to worry too much about, like, your visibility."

Mark flushes at the thought that Johnny is going to great pains to keep Mark's presence on the downlow here, but it's something he appreciates nonetheless. He's here to unwind, and for the most part, he thinks they'll be able to pull it off. This isn't Seoul. Whatever networks their stalkers tap into probably, hopefully, don't exist to the same extent here, but Mark is grateful that Johnny's taking it upon himself to play Bodyguard for him.

"Sounds like a plan, man," Mark says, and drinks the last dregs of his hot chocolate—salt and sugar sediments and all.

"Cool," Johnny says. "You can leave that, I'll handle the dishes."

"No, no," Mark says, rising to take Johnny's mug. "Listen, two years ago, the tenth floor became the butt of the joke because we only ever drank shit out of wine glasses, and we were just really so fucking awful at washing our dishes when the dorm auntie wasn't there, so this is two years of hard training for me. Let me do the dishes."

Johnny's face has incredulity written all over it. "Dude. It can't have been that hard."

"Johnny, we literally have a video of us writing house rules down," Mark says, still inwardly cringing from how they had to film that. Granted, it made their dorm life significantly tidier, but still.

"No way," Johnny laughs, picking his phone up from the table. "Would you hate me if I watched it right now?"

Mark turns away to face the sink, letting the tap run, watching the inside of the mugs go from brown to white. "Nah, go ahead."

Mark can hear Jungwoo's voice from behind him as he takes the sponge to wash the mugs out. Johnny's laugh, Mark notes, sounds so much deeper in person than it does over the phone or on camera. He hadn't expected it to sound so nice.

"Man, Jungwoo is the funniest out of all of you," Johnny says, his eyes half-moons as Mark hears them argue over leaving towels on the floor. "God, I forgot what it was like to have to live with other dudes."

Mark sets the mugs on the drying rack, wipes his hands dry with a paper towel before tossing it in the trash under the sink, and slides back into the seat across Johnny.

He watches Johnny while his attention remains on the entire discussion about cups and wonders if seeing them like this hurts him, or if it's water under the bridge already. Johnny seems like he's enjoying himself, but Mark is also now recalling that, as far as he knows, Johnny has never gone to any of their US shows. He wants to ask, but he holds his tongue. It's his first night here, and rocking the boat or making things awkward is the last thing Mark wants to do.

"Okay, okay, I can see why the dishes were a thing for you." Johnny wipes the mirth from his eyes. "Yuta and Jaehyun are so cute, huh?" he asks, absentmindedly looking at his phone as he locks it.

Mark… does not know what to say to that, so he glides past it. "Yeah, I try to not get rusty," Mark says, wriggling his fingers for emphasis. "We have a schedule at home, but even when I was touring with SuperM, I'd insist on doing them if we were in a house instead of a hotel."

"'Excellence is a habit,' after all," Johnny says, winking. "That's Aristotle for you. Or, well, Durant, who paraphrased Aristotle."

"Okay, Mister I Went To University, thanks for the info," Mark laughs.

Johnny laughs too, then looks down at the table, at his own hand resting on it, and shakes his head. "This is wild, isn't it? I went to college, you became a K-pop star, and now we're sitting in my kitchen."

"It does feel a little like I'm dreaming," Mark admits, laughing and scrubbing over the back of his skull, feeling the velvety texture of the shorter hairs there. "But it's so good, dude, I can't even tell you. I'm really glad I texted you, even if the circumstances around it sucked."

"Me too, man." Johnny reaches over and squeezes Mark's wrist. "Fuck, it's so weird. But at the same time, for me, it feels inevitable? I know we didn't talk for years, but I always kinda suspected you'd pop up again. Or maybe just hoped."

They've talked a bit about Johnny's leaving and radio silence, and how everyone but Taeyong let him get away with it, but they haven't _talked_ about it. Mark might be too jet-lagged for this conversation right now, and it makes him tense, even more liable to trip over the things he says. It doesn't help that the idea of Johnny secretly hoping for a reconciliation makes him feel several things at once, and not all of them are pleasant. Why did Johnny write everyone off if he hoped to stay friends?

Mark puts all that aside. What matters is that he's here now. "I honestly had no idea. But I guess things happen the way they need to, or they're supposed to." Sometimes it feels like God put Johnny back in his life when he needed him the most—to help him cope with the contract stuff, sure, but also more importantly to be a friend, to fill in an old emptiness, and to give him somewhere to go away from it all. But saying that out loud is lame. "I gotta warn you, dude, if you want to get deep with me right now, that's cool, but I might pass out in the middle of it."

Johnny pulls back, the corners of his mouth still curled with fondness. He straightens in his seat and checks the time. "You shouldn't crash yet. In another hour or two, maybe, or you'll be up before dawn."

"I _have_ done this a few times," Mark says wryly. "I know not to fall for the trick of passing out as soon as I land."

"Ah, yeah, all the touring." Johnny nods. "So, you wanna hear about the truly unhinged conference call I was on yesterday?"

"Oh, fuck yes, hit me, dude." Johnny's gig as a PR coordinator made absolutely no sense to Mark when he first heard about it, since he assumed Johnny would get into production or something and not let his literal years of music training go to waste. But Johnny seems to be having the time of his life working with weird-ass corporate people and distilling them into something the public might actually like. He was always obsessed with the image side of stuff at the company, while Mark only paid attention to what was appropriate on-camera versus off rather than twisting his brain around personas and second-guessing himself all the time. "Is this that same client who tried to get you into aerial yoga?"

"The very same," Johnny says with faux-seriousness. "All right, so get ready for a ride with this one—they made Bethany actually cry with frustration when the call finally ended."

"No," Mark gasps, and leans in.

🍂🍂🍂

The first thing that Mark becomes aware of is the smell of onions.

He startles awake, sitting up much too quickly for his head to adjust, but it only takes him a couple of seconds to remember where he is. Directly in front of him is a flat screen television with the black Apple TV perched on top of it. Around the television are shelves filled with books, rows and rows of them; under it are a row of vinyl records the reminds Mark so much of Jaehyun's collection that his chest twinges with an old regret, or sadness, or _something_ , because just being in Johnny's apartment makes him think that Johnny really would have fit right in with them—that Johnny had, once upon a time.

Mark swings his legs over the edge of the mattress, grabs his phone from under his pillow, and pads over to the kitchen, where Johnny's standing at the stove with nothing but his sweats on.

"Hey!" Johnny says, startled, setting his frying pan down back onto the open fire. "Shit, sorry, did I wake you?"

Mark doesn't realize he's staring at Johnny's ink until Johnny bends down a little and Mark's eyes focus back on Johnny's face. _What the fuck is going on with you, man_ , Mark thinks to himself.

The morning sun is still wan, filtering in through the open window where the cool October air is blowing in. A quick glance at his phone tells him it's only 7:29 in the morning.

"It's fine," Mark says, stretching his body out and stifling a yawn before pulling the fridge door open to get some water. "I smelled the onions and couldn't resist. What happened to sleeping in?" he asks, uncapping a water bottle. "And dude, are you sure you should be cooking shirtless? Yuta almost gave himself a scar doing that once."

Johnny looks sheepish, pushing some of the onions aside with a wooden spatula before taking an egg with his right hand and cracking it open one-handed onto the pan, sizzling noisily before Mark watches Johnny break the yolk and scramble the egg.

"Nah, I'm fine, it's just eggs. And I got too excited to sleep in, honestly," Johnny says, grinning at him. Mark can't help but return his smile. It's honestly been really fucking nice seeing Johnny so amped up about taking Mark around. "And hungry. Don't think I'll be able to hold out until brunch. Do you want anything? I can make you something easy."

Mark remembers the watermelon in the glass containers and says, "It's okay. I'll just—" He opens the fridge door again, taking one of the containers out, and says, "How'd you know?"

Johnny's plating his eggs when he looks up and sees the container in Mark's hands.

"I haven't forgotten _everything_ about my time with you guys, you know. It’s always been your favorite," Johnny says lightly. There doesn't seem to be any bitterness to it, but given that they generally avoid delving into his trainee days and the people he left behind, given that the conversation is still hovering over them waiting to be had, Mark can't be sure.

They both settle at the table again, the sunlight beginning to fill the room steadily as Johnny hunches over his food and Mark spears a watermelon chunk with his fork.

"I'd forgotten what it was like to wake up to somewhere that wasn't filled with other people," Mark says quietly, because it's the truth. This is the slowest morning he's had in months, the last time having been when he was in LA with SuperM. Even then, that silence and slowness had been short-lived since everyone gathered at the breakfast table and got rowdy. "I didn't realize how much of my life's been filled with, like, buzzy noise, you know?"

Johnny's lip curls up into a small smile before shoving a spoonful of eggs into his mouth. Even the way Johnny chews food looks different from watching Yuta or Jaehyun.

"That's what a mandatory vacation should feel like, dude," Johnny says, holding his hand up to cover his mouth while he chews. "Easy, breezy, beautiful."

Mark tries to keep his eyes off of Johnny's tattoos, but it's hard when they’re all on display like this, the dark vines curving over muscle and tapering off in light olive and green.

"I know this is, like, a cliche question, but do your tattoos mean anything?" Mark asks, working on his second piece of fruit.

"Oh, these?" Johnny replies, shrugging his shoulder up. "Honestly, not really. I just liked how they looked. The sunflower does, though," he says, showing Mark the small yellow flower on his forearm. "I hit a low point a couple of years back, and like a sign from God or whatever is looking out for me, some lady came up to me on campus with sunflowers in her hand before giving me one. It’s cheesy, I know, but she told me, 'Young man, never stop looking towards the sun.' Never got her name, never figured out who the hell she was, but I never forgot it. I got inked a few months after I scored my job here."

Inexplicably, Mark wants to touch it, to trace over the skin and wonder if it'll share some of its magic with him. Johnny's done well, all things considered. He really did keep looking towards the sun.

"Yo, that's really fucking cool," Mark says. "That's what Hyuck's fans are called. Sunflowers."

"Fitting," Johnny laughs, finishing his eggs off. "He's something else. Haechan, right?"

"Yeah, that's what most people call him nowadays," Mark replies. "I still kind of mix up the two, though, depending on whether I'm pissed at him or not."

"And what does the wonderful Lee Donghyuck do to get under your skin?" Johnny asks, pulling out a small square of tissue from his dispenser and wiping his mouth with it.

"Everything," Mark groans. "I love him, but he's just too quick for his own good. You remember how it was when we were kids, right? He's the same, except like ten times more of a demon. He'll walk around with a camera and try to kiss everyone on the cheek; I'll be in the middle of talking and then—smack. Right there. He knows I can't do anything with the camera on."

Johnny laughs, probably remembering the shit Donghyuck got up to as a precocious teenager, though Johnny was spared the worst of it. Donghyuck lived for teasing all his hyungs, but he gave Johnny a wider berth than most because Johnny was the least likely to shrug it off if Donghyuck went too far.

Mark wouldn't have said Donghyuck was afraid of Johnny—Donghyuck isn't afraid of much, Mark doesn't think, aside from getting hurt or sick again and sharing Mark's healthy fear of heights—but he was careful with him, leaning into his cute maknae side more than the smart mouth everyone else had to put up with. Has to put up with. Haechan may be older and wiser, but it also means he's picked up new tricks and gotten better at executing them.

"He just knows me too well, I guess," Mark concludes. "We don't even live on the same floor, and he's so good at getting on my nerves."

Johnny leans back and pushes his hair out of his face with both hands. "Sounds like he's the bestest friend you could have ever asked for," he says, and warmth spreads through Mark's chest, because it is true—he and Hyuck are inseparable for many reasons, and even if he's the one person who makes Mark's blood boil, he's also the one person who eerily knows Mark better than he knows himself and is unafraid to hold the mirror up for Mark when he needs it.

"Yeah, he's all right," Mark says, rolling his eyes fondly.

🍂🍂🍂

It takes them an hour to get from Morningside Heights to Chelsea Market by bus, but Mark's grateful that Johnny was cool with the idea.

"Saves me the trouble of having to find parking in this goddamn city," Johnny said, lacing up his sneakers.

Mark has the vaguest memories of having lived in Queens as a kid, but he's never had a chance to just walk around Manhattan and experience the city without being hounded or supervised by someone from the company. Jeremy, their US manager, did his best to give them more leeway whenever they were in the States, but this is different—getting on a bus full of strangers, pulling his beanie lower over his head and his mask over his nose, his glasses taking up half his face—to see the city the way it's meant to be seen, like a local.

They talk about music that has nothing to do with the K-pop industry. Johnny ends up handing him one AirPod, putting some moody music on, at odds with the vibrant flash of their surroundings while Mark stares out the window, wondering how his life would look like if he hadn't auditioned, if he hadn't stuck around, if he hadn't worked himself to the bone all these years.

But then Johnny shifts to J. Cole as he tells Mark they're getting off at the next stop, and his mood picks up. Mark kind of feels badass, if he's honest with himself. He's out in the world, and in this city, he feels like he could blend into the crowd and fit right in. He'd forgotten what anonymity felt like—not that he's anywhere near the likes of the Western artists that he looks up to, at least not when he's outside of Seoul, but rather that he's had to watch and monitor himself for so long.

He doesn't miss the irony of him being able to breathe better in one of the busiest cities in the world.

He hands Johnny back his AirPod when they step off the bus and watches Johnny latch the case onto his belt loop the way Yuta likes to do.

"Yo, did you ever get to try Los Tacos Number One?" Johnny asks, slinging his arm around Mark's shoulder as a big crowd of tourists threaten to separate them before they enter.

"No, but we did have the lobster rolls and the chowder somewhere here. We filmed it before the concert— Ah, I mean—" Mark cuts himself off. It's difficult traversing this topic when it's so tied into how they know each other in the first place. It's like Mark can't shut up about being in the band that Johnny waited so long to be part of.

It's a little odd too, trying to talk about his life and realizing that ninety percent of it is made up of the band. He has so few memories that don't involve them. They're his family now, and Johnny's still estranged from them, more or less.

Johnny squeezes around Mark's bicep, leaning in as a wall of sound hits them when they enter the busy market. "It's okay to talk about NCT, you know. I'm okay."

Mark looks up, realizing anew how much taller Johnny actually is compared to him, and says, "I just don't want to be insensitive."

"And I appreciate it." Johnny guides him through the crowd until they enter the main concourse and Mark sees the signage in the corner of the hall, a massive BIENVENIDO painted in black over what looks like white roofing.

Johnny gives his recommendation as Mark studies the menu, and when Mark decides to go with it and order the nopal and pollo asada, Johnny's already handing his credit card over, waving Mark off with a, "Let me, come on, at least for today."

He doesn't let himself think about the disparity in their income, or how this reminds him of all the times Yuta or Taeyong has treated Mark to a meal, tugging on his earlobe when he protests. Johnny used to bring Mark snacks from the convenience store, or let him raid his stash of junk food if the cleaning people hadn't thrown it out again. God, the Rookie dorms were so shitty; Mark remembers how many times someone made the mistake of leaving food out overnight and how quickly it attracted bugs. Literally, they once got cockroaches because of half a cracker.

When their food is served, they carry it over to a little ledge where they can eat standing up. It's a weekday, so the market isn't too busy, and they can talk comfortably where they've parked themselves.

A question sits heavy in Mark's mouth, remaining there even as he digs into what's arguably one of the best tacos he's ever had. They eat in silence as they polish off their first servings of the soft shell tacos, but as Johnny shoves his plate of abodaba quesadilla for Mark to try, Mark finds that he can't keep it in.

"Do you ever regret leaving?" Mark asks, and the shock registers in Johnny's eyes just as he inhales and then subsequently chokes on his food, coughing to clear his airway and reaching out to take a sip of his horchata. "Fuck, sorry—" Mark scrambles to say, smacking Johnny on the back like it does anything to help him.

Johnny muffles a laugh, takes another sip of his drink, and bats Mark away reassuringly. "Dude, it's okay. It's okay." There are tears in Johnny's eyes that he wipes with a smile. "Regret? That's a big word."

Mark remains quiet, worried that his lack of filter has gone and jeopardized the mood, on his _first fucking day here_ , but Johnny sighs, leans on the ledge with his elbow, and looks off to the side.

"I think that it's always gonna kind of come back to sting me once in a while," Johnny starts. "For the first couple of years it really hurt. Just… I know I could have held on, but I didn't know if I was holding on for anything then. EXO debuted, and I dealt with it. And then NCT U. When NCT 127 was finalized and I still wasn't in it, I thought to myself, _you gotta face the music, Johnny_."

He pauses to pick up his nopal taco and takes a bite. Mark takes the opportunity to eat too, though his appetite is diminished with nerves from opening his big mouth.

"I was bitter for a long time," Johnny continues. "Even if I knew I was the one who made the decision to go. I remember being so frustrated, hanging out in my parents' house with nothing to do, and no one cared what I'd given up or who I used to be in Korea. It was rough. Then I got into university and I had to stop clinging to SM and trainee life and—well, you guys. I couldn't have given it an honest shot otherwise, I don't think. I had to let it go."

Mark listens while he chews on his own food slowly. Somewhere in the vicinity of his lungs, he feels an old wound begin to open up.

"It's hard to say if I regret leaving the whole idol thing behind," Johnny says. "I like my life a lot the way it is now, and staying in the company would have cut me off from so much."

Mark can understand that, even if visualizing himself outside of being NCT's Mark Lee is nearly impossible, but it's not helping the ugly, conflicted feelings inside of him. Johnny leaving fucked up the guys so much. But honestly, Johnny leaving and not looking back hurt the most. The fact that he cut it all off, cut _Mark_ off, like a gangrenous limb doesn't feel good, even if he gets it on a rational level. Johnny deserves to be happy and live his life however he wants.

Johnny takes a long sip of his drink and rustles the wrapper around his half-eaten taco. "But I know that I do regret the people I left, and the way I did it. Taeyong was the only one who really tried to keep me in the loop, and even then I wasn't too great about it. I had a lot of growing up to do, and when I finally did it, I just figured I was too late. Bridges burned beyond repair, all of that."

Johnny's hinted at missing them a few times, and outright said he expected Mark to end up in his life again somehow, but Mark still finds himself processing this like it's new information. "I don't think you burned all of them. When he found your Insta, all Yuta really said was you would have made a good idol," Mark offers, remembering the conversation they had over lunch, that very first day he and Johnny started talking again. It feels like a lifetime ago.

"I'm glad I have his vote of confidence," Johnny laughs. "And I'm glad that not everyone is holding a grudge. God, I'd forgotten how much fun I used to have with you guys. I still remember the birthday video we did when you led me around with the Post-Its."

Mark remembers it too, carrying the camera and leading Johnny to the practice rooms where the other trainees had left birthday messages for him on the walls, on the ceiling, in the pulldown blinds.

It's then that Mark remembers Ten's suggestive note, the photos of which had resurfaced around the time the news broke about Johnny's being bi, and simultaneously, Mark realizes with horror that he hasn't _told_ Ten that he's here. With Johnny. He hasn't even told him about his vacation in general. In the rush and impulse of getting here, he left a crucial few steps out.

"Oh my _Jesus_ ," Mark says, his stomach sinking.

"What is it?" Johnny says, concern dropping like a mask over his face.

"I, uh—I haven't told Ten I'm here," Mark says, taking a nervous, long sip of his drink.

"You kept it a secret from him?" Johnny asks a little incredulously.

"Dude, you were dead to him for, like, years!" Mark says in his defense, and it isn't like he's lying. Ten's always been touchy when it comes to Johnny. "We couldn't even mention your name. I never really did find out what went on with you guys."

There's a small downturn to Johnny's mouth at this. "I tried to stay in touch with him after I left, but he wasn't having any of it," Johnny says, his voice low. Mark tries not to twinge at that, how Taeyong and Ten merited attempts to reach out but Mark didn't get so much as a card. "I can't say I blame him, even if it sucks."

Mark hazards piecing things together and takes a tentative metaphorical step. "Were—were you guys dating?"

Johnny locks eyes with Mark sharply at that, then huffs something like a laugh. "It was always hard to say, honestly," he says, slow, like he’s not sure. "We were very close. We loved each other. A couple of times I thought that we were on the edge of something there, but it never really happened."

"So… but like, you liked him?" It feels extremely weird to ask. He's prying too much into the life of someone he hasn't even spent twenty-four hours with, though even that isn't too accurate. There was a time when Mark saw Johnny every day, went to him with nearly all of his problems—bullshit, naive teenager problems, in retrospect, but Johnny always did his best to solve them.

Mark expects him to avoid the question, but Johnny responds easy, doesn't close himself off or anything. "I thought about it, yeah. But we were both too worried about keeping our heads down, making it to debut before rocking the boat. The job always came first, yada yada. I think..." Johnny pauses to wipe his mouth. "I think that Ten expected us to end up together if I had stayed on. He never did say it out loud to me, but I can guess that's probably where he was at when I broke the news."

Mark can understand then, why Ten's acted this way all these years. He hadn't said anything when the news about Johnny broke, and Mark hadn't wanted to be the one to bring it up. The devastation he saw on Ten the night Johnny told him he was leaving was enough to caution Mark away. It's not hard to put two and two together and surmise that Ten was in love with Johnny at one point or another.

"Do you think he'll be angry that you're here? With me?" Johnny asks, frowning a bit.

The way Johnny says "with me" makes Mark warm up for some reason. Like he's taboo, which, on some level, Johnny probably is. Mark Lee alone in New York with an openly bisexual ex-SM trainee? He swallows the mild panic that rises in his throat. It's fine. They're safe. They're just two guys eating tacos in Chelsea Market.

"I honestly don't know, but, like, I'm guessing he'll be okay?" Mark says. "I mean, I hope so. God, I don't want him yelling at me."

"Does Ten yell?" Johnny laughs, taking both their paper plates and folding them to toss in the trash. "I don't think he yells."

"No, but he'll get moody and ignore me until he's decided I've, like, suffered enough, and I don't want that either," Mark says.

"Come on, worry about that later," Johnny says. "We've got the rest of the day ahead of us. If Tennie reams you out, then let's at least get more food in you."

The nickname sounds a bit jarring coming from Johnny’s mouth, but Mark remembers the reality of it: Johnny and Ten had almost been something. He’s allowed to still remember Ten that way.

The arm is back around Mark's shoulders, and it should be strange, the easy physicality that Johnny seems to move with around Mark, but it isn't. Mark's forgotten that they used to be like this, that Johnny used to rest his hands on Mark's shoulders, Johnny used to lift him up on his own shoulders.

God, Johnny knew Mark when he used to _crawl onto Taeyong's lap_ for comfort like a big baby. How fucking embarrassing.

They make their way through the rest of the shops within the market, popping into places that sell chocolates and ham and lobsters, picking up small orders that they trade while walking around and just talking.

Johnny tells Mark about university life at Loyola, about the classmates he had, the reasoning behind his BBA in marketing. Mark in turn tells him stories about what debut felt like, about Hansol and what Yuta said about almost leaving.

They come across a booth that sells jewelry, and Mark recalls that Doyoung bought something similar there. He proceeds to buy earrings for the members he knows have piercings and rings for the rest. There's a teardrop one with a purple gem set into it that catches Mark's eye, and Johnny as well, it seems.

"That'd be nice for Ten," Johnny says, nodding to it. "It's his birthstone. Amethyst."

Mark ends up buying the pair as a preemptive apology for the conversation he's going to have to have with Ten. And soon.

⏪⏪⏪

When 127 lands in New York for the first leg of The Origin, Mark very quickly learns that there isn't going to be any breathing room for them while they're here.

The crowds are not entirely surprising—they've seen a spike in popularity from the West, especially since he and Jaehyun are the ones who have been leading the charge with the international fans for the start to this tour.

They exit the plane and enter JFK's arrivals to a roaring crowd screaming their names. Mark sees fans holding red banners with white lettering, ‘NCT 127’ printed on them. The band is dressed in their black NCT sweaters for uniformity's sake, and so they don't lose each other in the crowd, especially when they exit into the night air and see the flock of fans that surround their tour bus.

Their tour bus.

They get an _entire fucking tour bus._ Mark wheels his luggage out and looks up at it in awe, his stomach in knots because this shit is real. They're really here. His and his friends' faces are plastered all around this massive white vehicle like a blaring bat signal for people to stalk them. He just hopes they're not popular enough to warrant that behavior, though the chanting of "NCT, NCT" and the vivid memory of shutters going off around him in Seoul don't exactly make him feel too safe.

But this is still exhilarating, the thrill of it, the noise, the sound. These fans are coming out for them, have waited for them for hours to land, have floating heart balloons in neon greens for them.

Inside the tour bus, the energy crests while they film for their vlog and meet with their US managers. There's an entire list of shows they'll be ferried off to while they're here, and they'll be seeing the inside of studios more than the city itself, but for the moment, Mark sits on the black leather of their tour bus' couch and tries to let his brain keep up with everything that's happening.

They're brought to their first hotel out of many on this North American tour, and by the time Mark's showered and ready for bed, he realizes that he only has about three hours to sleep left. He closes his eyes and clasps his hands in prayer after getting settled on his bed, Jungwoo fast asleep on the bed next to his, and says, "Lord, thank you. We're nervous for this tour, and we're nervous to debut something on Good Morning America, but you would not bring us to this if you didn't think we would get through this. Thank you."

It's a prayer Mark repeats in the very few pockets of silence that they're afforded. Handlers take them from bus to studio to dressing room to stage to bus and so forth. The schedule for New York in particular is ridiculously tight, and Mark wonders if any of the other members are already feeling the strain in their necks and on their faces.

"We love NCT, we love you, Mark Lee!" Mark hears when they get off the bus to get to their scheduled appearances.

"Um, this record is for the fans, for us to believe that we can do anything, that we can be more than superhuman, yeah," Mark parrots into the microphone whenever they get asked 'We Are Superhuman' is about.

They debut _Superhuman_ on _Good Morning America_ to fans that scream their praise as if it's a song they've heard over and over; news reaches them only later in the evening that the Korean general public isn't happy. Mark closes his eyes and thinks that this is the tradeoff, that their tie-in with Capitol Records meant that this album launch had to happen this way, had to capitalize on making the international fans happy for a change. They're too busy to think about the numbers at the moment. All Mark knows is the next interview is coming up, and he runs through his lines in English, sitting in the back of the bus with Jaehyun so they can practice.

They catch wind of a random play dance event taking place in Washington Square Park, and the managers make quick work of figuring out that GoToe is responsible for setting it up. Calls are made, discussions about security are had, and much like everything else that's taken place since they entered America, Mark finds himself walking through a massive crowd that starts to clock them one by one until a domino effect takes place and all of a sudden, there are people coming in too close.

Mark tries to steady his breathing, tries to live in the moment. He remembers being sixteen and watching a small crowd gather for them, and now he's here, nineteen years old, a few days shy of his first American concert, standing on the same level as a massive gathering of fans dancing to songs that he has worked on, to choreography that they worked on for weeks. Fans who barely understand the language they're singing in but are enthusiastically singing along to it anyway.

It doesn't matter that there's little room to move here, or that he can't exactly sight-see—not when fans are calling out to Mark about how there's a bee in his hair. He laughs and dances along, and he poses with the fans that he's allowed to stop for.

His entire career has led up to this. He calms his nerves. Smiles, and throws himself back into it.

 _This is it_ , he thinks. _This is what you worked for._

⏩⏩⏩

The conversation with Ten happens much, much sooner than Mark expected it to.

When they finish up shopping, bags in Johnny's left hand on his insistence, Johnny leads them up a flight of stairs that opens onto a rooftop garden that's bursting with life and color. There are train tracks to the left of where they're walking, with foliage that looks like it's grown over the iron and steel.

"Welcome to the High Line," Johnny says with a small flourish, walking forward.

Around them are apartment buildings that look like they cost more than anything Mark could ever make in this lifetime. There are massive glass windows, and he can see into these fancy penthouses, people moving about like they're on display. It's a beautifully pleasant day, just overcast enough that the afternoon sun isn't beating down on them and the wind is so crisp, Mark has to wrap his black puffer jacket tighter around himself.

"Yo, this place is suh- _weet_ ," Mark says, walking at a pace slow enough so he can literally pull his mask down and stop to smell the roses—or, well, the flowers. He'd never been great at naming them, but there's a patch of violet flowers planted next to what he thinks looks like wheat but probably isn't, and there's a soft, sweet smell in the air, with an undercurrent of loam.

People mill about them, and Johnny waits patiently for Mark to move forward. This rooftop park seems to sprawl out in several directions.

"We can hang out here for a bit, sit down and relax, then it's a twenty-minute walk to the Flatiron when we take West 23rd," Johnny says, smiling up at the cool breeze that blows through the walkway.

Mark nods like he knows enough about Manhattan's geography to place any of that. He pulls his phone out to snap some photos of the sky and the plants around them to send back to the group chat.

It's then that a message pings on his screen, and Mark nearly trips on his own feet when he sees that Ten's texted him. It's three in the morning in Seoul, but Ten's never kept regular hours anyway.

"Oh my God," Mark says, looking down at the preview. "Ten texted me."

Johnny stops walking, takes one look at Mark's face, and tugs him by the jacket sleeve to sit down on the nearest bench.

"Open the message and reply to him,"Johnny says gently. "I'm not gonna have you on edge over this on your first full day here."

Mark exhales and sees the message. It's innocuous, really.

**[Ten 2:03 p.m.]  
** _> Markie I miss you. Let's get sushi tomorrow_

Mark could lie and say he's swamped. Ten would probably not question it. But he's playing a dangerous game here, so he knows he has to just bite the bullet and come clean about where he actually is.

**[Me 2:10 p.m.]  
** _> Hey hyung  
_ _> Uh i can't do tomorrow actually  
_ _> I'm out of town_

**[Ten 2:12 p.m.]  
**_> Wait for real??  
__> Wru? Is this another magazine  
__> My baby is booked and busy _😜

Mark's hands begin to shake a little as he types out his reply. It takes several starts and stops, and Mark can keep himself stress-sweating under the jacket and shirt he's got on.

**[Me 2:14 p.m.]  
** _> Hahaha um actually hyung I'm on vacation in New York right now  
_ _> With Johnny-hyung  
_ _> As in Johnny Suh?_

The minutes Mark spends staring at the dots on his screen as Ten types out a response are the longest of his life. His leg shakes and Johnny watches him, amused and trying to hide it, while Mark tries to keep his breathing in check.

**[Ten 2:20 p.m.]  
** _> Oh my god  
_ _> Oh my god what  
_ _> WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME???????_

The multiple question marks make it difficult for Mark to determine whether Ten is genuinely mad or just actually confused, but he knows he needs to type out a reply quickly.

"Everything okay there, bud?" Johnny asks, slinging his arm over the back of the bench.

"Yeah, he's, uh, like, yelling at me," Mark says, trying to think of what to say. His thumb hovers over the keyboard, and he begins typing out his response with a, "We started talking again recently and he suggested I take a break" but Ten follows up before he can hit send.

**[Ten 2:24 p.m.]  
** _> I just found his instragram  
_ _> WHY IS HE HOT  
_ _> WAIT DONT TELL HIM I SAID THAT_

Mark laughs because it's too late, Johnny's seen what Ten's sent, and Johnny's shaking with suppressed laughter. It's with a little guilt that Mark decides to press the button that opens up the camera app, angles it to fit the both of them, Johnny leaning in close enough for Mark to catch a whiff of his Jo Malone again, and sends Ten the selca.

**[Ten 2:26 p.m.]  
** _> Fucking what  
_ _> Hold on!!!  
_ _> Tell him his hair is stupid!_

"He says your hair is stupid," Mark says, the nerves beginning to leave him.

Johnny's voice is low and soft, his expression deeply fond, when he holds his hand out and says, "Give me your phone."

Mark does, because he trusts Johnny.

"Hi, Tennie, my hair looks incredible, thanks. I miss you," Johnny says into the microphone, then sends the voice note off and hands the phone back to Mark.

**[Ten 2:28 p.m.]  
** _> Fuck  
_ _> Fuck  
_ _> Hold on _

Mark has an inkling of what Ten's gone off to do, but the relief that washes over him now that Ten knows makes him sit up straighter.

"He'll be okay," Johnny says, and Mark wonders how Johnny can say that with the conviction he has. There's a tiny, tiny voice in his head that says, _How can you know? You left him_ , but Mark keeps his mouth shut. It's still an adjustment—being here, unpacking years and years' worth of hurt and unsaid feelings.

"Yeah, I hope," he says instead.

Mark rises, and Johnny follows suit, moving out of the way as two toddlers charge a path between them, their frazzled father chasing after them yelling out, "Alex! Daniel! For goodness sake!" while Johnny falls back into step next to Mark.

"Did you really think that people wouldn't miss you?" Mark asks quietly, shoving both his hands into his jacket's pockets.

Johnny keeps his gaze straight ahead, but he purses his lips. "I think I knew, but I didn't think it would be so bad."

"It fucked us up pretty bad," Mark replies. "I think it fucked me up too, but I didn't—I mean." Mark shifts uncomfortably on his feet as they make it to the end of the walkway, turning into a corner with more benches spread out in the open. "Sorry. I—I'm overstepping here."

"No, no," Johnny says. "I wanna hear it, man. It's been six years of not talking about it. I'd like for us to be able to clear the air."

Mark squeezes his phone in his pocket, wondering how Ten is faring. He takes a deep breath.

"I think for a while I resented that you never bothered to tell me yourself that you were leaving, and why," Mark says, feeling the old wound open up further, like he's poking at it with dirty fingers. "I wasn't part of the big boys club. I wasn't in the same league as Taeyong or Ten or Yuta, but I thought we were bros, you know? I thought we were in it together. When you left, I just told myself to pack it up and move on, but like. I never really bothered to unpack it again and take a good hard look at what that did to me."

Johnny's quiet, and it's expected. Mark doesn't even know what he wants Johnny to say, but he knows that he needed to get that off his chest.

"I—I just, like, yo, I don't expect an apology or anything, okay, you left 'cause you needed to and that's all good, and we're here now, right?" Mark says, bumping Johnny's arm with his elbow and looking up at Johnny's carefully placid face, at the small, pained smile he throws Mark. "I needed to put that out there. That's where I was at back then."

The silence stretches on until it's almost unbearable. Around them, there are car horns blaring, and somewhere behind Mark, there's a group of girls laughing loudly by the train tracks.

"I didn't want to heap that on your shoulders, Mark," Johnny says, finally. "I didn't want you to think that you had to feel guilty for getting a debut when I didn't. Though—I guess that's probably what everyone felt at one point or another, after I made my announcement. I'm sorry. I should have been a better big bro to you."

There's a hook that catches Mark somewhere around his gut at the words "big bro," a wave of irritation that shouldn't be present because Johnny didn't mean anything bad by that. It scrapes at him, reminds him of the strange pressure that he used to feel when he'd be out in public with the rest of the members and he'd see the fans refer to them as family, brothers or father and son as opposed to just friends and coworkers, like they didn't have fathers of their own already. Like they were all supposed to be a happy family at all times. While he does consider most of the members his family now, that wasn't always the case, and it was hard-won.

Frankly, Johnny left before he even got to that status. Families don't quit on each other.

"I don't need another big bro, Johnny," Mark says, hoping that it doesn't come off as abrasive. "I have more than my fair share of big brothers. We're friends. Can we be that?"

Johnny regards him, his eyes scanning Mark's face, before he lets out an exhale and smiles, his shoulders sagging. "God, you really are grown, Markie." Johnny slings his arms back around Mark's shoulders, something steadily becoming more and more familiar to Mark. "All right, you got me. Friends."

The air does, in fact, seem clearer after that, the pair of them falling back into talking about the landscaping of the park before Johnny leads them down another flight of stairs and onto a moderately busy street.

"We still have a couple of hours to kill before dinnertime, but we can head to the Flatiron now and we can shop a little more in the area if you want," Johnny says, checking the time on his watch, which Mark only belatedly realizes is a fucking _Rolex_. How much does marketing pay, anyway?

"Yeah, dude, I'm up for anything," Mark replies, just as he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

**[Ten 3:10 p.m.]  
** _> Hi okay  
_ _> Im not mad at you i just wish you'd told me sooner!  
_ _> Why didnt you tell me :( _

Mark feels the guilt return. Why hadn't he told Ten? Maybe because it feels so much like a betrayal, but that would mean that Mark would have to address how Mark's made assumptions about how Ten feels about Johnny. Still, he has to reply. Mark steps out of the one-armed embrace Johnny has Mark in so he can text properly.

 **[Me 3:11 p.m.]  
**_> Did you cry _😞

**[Ten 3:11 p.m.]  
** _> A little but you saw that coming  
_ _> Im okay i promise!!! Just :(  
_ _> What did i do that made you feel like you couldnt tell me_

Mark feels Johnny guide them through the sidewalk, gently pulling him here and there while he focuses on his phone screen.

**[Me 3:12 p.m.]  
** _> Hyung you've acted like he was dead for six years  
_ _> I guess I was nervous you'd think I betrayed you or something  
_ _> Im sorry :( _

**[Ten 3:13 p.m.]  
** _> Thats a lot to unpack here but i forgive you  
_ _> We'll talk more when you get home okay!  
_ _> I just dont want my kitten in over his head!! >:( _

**[Me 3:13 p.m.]  
** _> Hahahaha hyung what does that mean??  
_ _> I'm just on vacation _

**[Ten 3:15 p.m.]  
** _> Okay baby enjoy your vacay  
_ _> Be safe and hand fun!  
_ _> Also punch johnny in the tummy for me_

**[Me 3:16 p.m.]  
** _> I'm pretty sure I'll break my hand if I do that hahaha_

**[Ten 3:17 p.m.]  
** _> STOP REMINDING ME THAT HE'S HOT_  
_> Ok im going to sleep now  
_ _> Love you!! Be safe!!_

Mark stops walking to deflate near a street lamp, locking his phone and shoving it back into his pocket. His relief must be palpable, since Johnny takes one look at his face and throws his head back in laughter.

"Jesus," Johnny says. "Okay, one less thing to worry about. Now the only problem I want you to have is to decide what cannelloni you wanna have after dinner."

Mark moves in closer, Johnny's arm latching itself onto him like it's a habit already. He relaxes into Johnny's side, grateful for the warmth after a particularly chilly breeze blows through the street, his mask serving its dual purpose of keeping his identity hidden and making his breath condense so his throat isn't drying out.

⏪⏪⏪

Mark catches sight of the news footage over Ten's shoulder as he slurps ramyeon. It's a wave of people, all wearing masks and hats and other attempts at disguise, with some participants' faces blurred by the news station.

The TV in the ramyeon shop is muted, and Mark couldn't hear it from his distance even if it weren't, but he can make out the banner underneath that this is coverage of the 2019 Seoul Queer Culture Festival. Apparently, it's got record numbers.

All Mark can focus on is how many of them are painted or wearing sunglasses to avoid detection, even as they celebrate. Ten notices him staring eventually, cutting himself off in the middle of a story Mark was already barely following about how Lucas won't stop hatching plans for them to get a puppy.

Ten has to crane his neck and squint to see the TV, but he says, "Ah, I forgot that's today."

Mark eats another bite of noodles and wipes sauce from his chin. "Have you ever been?" He can picture Ten being in his element, having fun, dancing, maybe carrying a sign he made, but he can't picture Ten hiding his face, though obviously he would have to.

"Ya, of course not." Ten hums and sips a spoonful of broth. "I'd get recognized like..." He snaps, one of his rings twisting on his finger.

"That sucks," Mark says. "You should be able to go if you want to."

They don't talk about the constraints Ten's under—the extra ones, beyond the usual cautions against dating or having any sort of a personal life or habits that don't meet SM's standards. He's got to hide, like, this whole huge part of himself. Mark could make a dumb mistake and risk losing his career for sure; he's seen it happen, and he worries about it sometimes, but he isn't at risk of his privacy being violated _and_ being used against him simply for being who he is.

"To be honest, it's not my scene," Ten admits. "Not in Korea. Maybe somewhere less, ah…" He tilts his head and tries to think of a word, scrunches his nose when he can't, and smiles. "Well, you know."

"Yeah."

Mark's obviously never been to a Pride thing before, but he remembers being nine or ten in Vancouver and his dad trying to navigate downtown amidst the closures and foot traffic. Mark could look out of his window and see people walking by, covered in rainbows, and it honestly looked like a lot of fun. Everyone seemed so excited.

"What's happening?" he remembers asking, and his mother turned to look at him from the front seat while his brother snickered and played on his DS.

"Oh, it's the, ah, Pride Parade," she said.

"It looks fun," Mark said, watching a woman help her little girl wrapped in a colorful boa to cross the street. "I wish we could go." He doesn't remember where they were headed downtown, but he does remember wishing they could park and he could get out and see what all the fuss was about.

"It's _Gay_ Pride," Jinhyung snorted. "Do any of us look gay to you?"

"Jacob," Mark's dad said warningly.

"You mean like...?" Mark asked, eyes bugging as he leaned closer to the window. Just then, a big, burly guy wearing only leather, and not a lot of it, came into view as his parents' car crawled along the street. Mark remembers the curiosity, embarrassment, and guilt he felt looking at the man. It wasn't like being at the pool and seeing so many people almost naked; it was weirder than that by far. It was maybe even sinful, at least in the case of the half-dressed adults dressed like _that_ in public.

"Yeah, they all get naked on floats and throw condoms at people—" Jinhyung said with thinly veiled excitement and contempt.

" _Jinhyung_ , I want quiet from you," their dad barked.

There was silence in the car for a while, though Mark remembers he could hear the worship CD he liked the most playing quietly, and distant, muffled noises like heavy bass, like lots of people in one place.

"They're just expressing themselves, honey," his mom said eventually, when Mark got too embarrassed looking out the window and stared at his hands in his lap. All the families, all the different types of people, they were all gay, and he hadn't known so many gay people existed, let alone in Vancouver. "There's nothing wrong with that."

Now, as an adult, who has a pretty good idea of how many queer people there are and counts one of them as basically his brother, he feels sorry for the Mark who was scared by a world he didn't understand. That little kid wouldn't have known to do with Ten, or how to be a good friend to him.

He hopes he's a good friend to Ten. To all of him, and not just the parts Ten is comfortable showing in public, especially since Mark is one of a pitifully few number Ten has come out to. He hopes he's done an okay job of growing out of his uneasiness, his, like, ignorance.

"If you do end up going to one someday, you'll probably have your own float," Mark says.

"Absolutely," Ten agrees immediately. "I'd design it too."

"For sure," Mark says, smiling. Ten goes back to his meal, not looking bothered by the topic, but Mark feels a strange wistfulness. "Hey, you deserve that, you know? I'm sorry you don't have it here."

Ten glances up, expression flat with surprise, but then he blinks and smiles at Mark again. "I know, baby. Thank you. Maybe someday I will. For now I'll just get by dancing to Beyonce in my room."

"Invite me to your next dance sesh," Mark says. He gets another big heap of noodles onto his chopsticks and shoves them into his mouth. "I can learn _Single Ladies_ for you," he garbles.

Ten sips his tea, hands delicate around the cup, eyebrows raised. "That I would, like, pay to see. And I think I have a leotard you can borrow."

"I'll cram myself into it," Mark promises, and Ten throws his head back and laughs.

⏩⏩⏩

The Flatiron Building is pretty to look at from the cluster of tables and chairs situated across it. There are food trucks lined up in the area, and it's filled with people lining up for things like hot cider and fusion food to snack on, though Johnny and Mark opt to grab coffee from one of the stalls and sit in comfortable silence until they're both hungry enough to step into Eataly, just a few minutes' walk away.

The entire market is suffused with yellow and white light, the air conditioning on full blast despite the weather being colder outside. Fruit stands greet them as they enter, before they walk in deeper to the heart of it, shelves full of olive oil and truffle butter and stacks and stacks of chocolates in between neat rows.

"I'm not too hungry yet, so if you wanna look around and shop here, I don't mind," Johnny says, pulling his hands out of his coat and reaching out for a chocolate bar wrapped in black paper, the word VENCHI printed in gold lettering. "They've got everything here. There's perfume in the back too."

"Oh, hey, that's cool, can you show me?" Mark says, thinking that Taeyong and Kun might appreciate new scents.

Johnny leads him to the shelves in the back, and Mark spends the next half hour testing scents out while Johnny leans in and gives his opinions. It's nice, reminds him so much of what it's like to go out with the members on slow days to shop. Mark imagines that if Haechan were around, he'd have vetoed half the things Johnny said yes to, to be petulant. Doyoung would probably have agreed with Johnny's choices.

"You know," Mark says after a while, his basket filled with vanilla incense for Xiaojun, basil perfume for Kun, and several bags of sweets for Taeyong. "You really would have fit right in with us. I hope that's okay to say. I think that if you tried to talk to everyone again, you'd find that the bridges aren't exactly beyond repair."

Johnny gives him a small smile and reaches out with his hand, a small squeeze on the back of his neck that sends shivers down his spine in a way that surprises him. He finds that it's not unpleasant at all.

"Thanks, Markie," Johnny says. "I might just do that. Though I think I should start with Ten and Taeyong first, yeah?"

Mark nods, feeling his knees creak as he stands up and lifts his basket up with one hand. "I mean, you already talk to Taeyong-hyung, so just… I dunno, he really likes animals. You could send him pics of, like, dogs and squirrels too. He loves that stuff. Be more present and all. Ten-hyung, though—"

Johnny exhales and bites his lower lip. "I'll put on my big boy pants and start with an apology."

"That'll work," Mark says, lightly punching Johnny's arm in an attempt to be reassuring.

"C'mon, let's get you paid so we can chow down on some cacio e pepe," Johnny laughs, leading the way to the cashier.

After paying, they make their way up to the restaurants within the building, the layout done in a manner where there aren't any walls between the dining places. It doesn't take long for them to pick a spot, Johnny choosing a restaurant situated in the dimmest part of the floor.

It's really cosy, actually. Mark pulls off his beanie and his mask and breathes properly for the first time all day, unwinding under the blanket of the low lighting. The food arrives quickly too. Johnny gets them wine with their osso bucco, and they split a cacio e pepe.

Mark's exhausted by the time they get back to Johnny's apartment, having become re-acquainted with the New York subway for a good forty minutes. He toes his sneakers off while Johnny pushes his bedroom door open and Mark sees him shuck his peacoat off when he passes to get to the living room.

"Do you mind if I hit the showers first?" Johnny calls out from his room as Mark shrugs off his layers, mindful to not get his outside clothes onto the pullout.

"Dude, this is your place, of course I don't mind," Mark replies incredulously.

He sets the shopping bags down next to the mattress and sits next to them, taking all the items out to account for his inventory. Belatedly, he worries that he might need to get more luggage at the rate he's been getting presents for everyone.

Mark spends the next thirty minutes scrolling through his phone, replying to the multiple messages in his group chats, as well as Yuta's mildly baffling line of questioning. Mark's not sure why Yuta keeps asking for selcas of him and Johnny, even after he’s sent the ones he has, but he replies with some of the photos he'd snapped from the day. Next, he tells Jungwoo that he's got a bunch of surprises for him, which is met with several kamojis and a blurry selca of Jungwoo sending him a heart.

He's so in his head and engrossed in his phone that he doesn't realize that Johnny's called his attention until he catches Johnny from his peripheral vision, and Mark wheezes a little, because Johnny's stepped out of the bathroom and into the living room with only a towel wrapped around his hips.

Thing is, Mark is around shirtless, muscled men all the time, but maybe it's because Johnny is still unfamiliar enough to him that seeing his wet skin and the droplet of water trailing from his hair and down over his left pec has him pausing like this is one of those dramatic Axe body spray commercials he remembers from when he was a teenager.

"Yo, bathroom's yours," Johnny says, walking to his room. "Sorry that took a while."

 _Sorry that took a while_ bounces around in Mark's head, because he knows what that's code for—in the dorms, at least—and it makes his face burn up. Johnny probably doesn't even realize that he's said it, since he doesn't say it with the sleazy leer that Jaehyun or Yuta usually have, but it still has Mark stumbling over his words anyway. "Ah—yeah, haha, thanks, man, it's no problem. I'll just—yeah," he says, before grabbing his towel and change of clothes and trying not to run into the bathroom.

Mark leans against the door once he's locked it behind him and tries to will away the burning in his cheeks.

🍂🍂🍂

Mark wakes the next day after tense dreams he forgets about almost as soon as he's conscious, and he discovers he's got a neckache, pulling his focus and his mood down. He also realizes with full embarrassment that he’s drooled on Johnny’s whale plushie in his sleep, and makes a note to try to wash Blue out later in secret.

When he gets up gingerly and makes his way to the kitchen, Johnny is there sipping fresh orange juice against the windowsill. Johnny makes him coffee and gives him Advil when he notices Mark rubbing his neck, rolling his shoulders.

"That pull-out is kind of a piece of crap, sorry."

"The couch part is nice, though," Mark protests, somehow compelled to defend the honor of Johnny's furniture. "Maybe I could sleep on that."

Johnny makes a face over his coffee mug. He's wearing a T-shirt this morning, old and faded and pinging Mark's memory; maybe he's had it for a very long time. "You can if you want. Sorry I'm making you put up with these one-star accommodations."

"No, your apartment is super cool!" It's clean and well decorated and kinda cozy, with a bunch of plants all over the windowsills and on bookshelves. "Seriously, don't worry about it. Honestly, I sleep in a twin bed unless we're on tour or I'm visiting my folks."

Johnny's unimpressed face intensifies. "You're a grown fucking man now and they have you all living like you're in college. Typical SM."

"I kinda like it," Mark admits, pushing away the ache in his neck and the irritation he feels at Johnny making another one of his comments about the company. There's a reason they do it this way, and it's not like Mark's too excited to strike out on his own and pay rent by himself in Cheongdam or somewhere even more expensive, even if he can afford it now. "I've done it so long, like, I don't know what I'd do with a place of my own."

"Not have to listen to everyone jerking off all the time, probably," Johnny says, lips curling.

"I room pretty much alone, yo," Mark reminds him, shaking his head. "And I think we all just… do it in the shower."

God. He does not know why he said that.

Johnny sighs and drains the rest of his coffee. "Some things never change." He plunks the mug down on the counter and slaps his hands next to it, on either side. "So! You ready for some exploration?"

"Yeah, dude, I was born ready. Just need to change."

They're doing a sort of one day on, one day off situation, where they pack a day with sightseeing and touristy stuff and then the next with chill stuff, kept within Johnny's neighborhood. Mark's a little paranoid that the more he rides transit and goes into heavily populated areas of Manhattan, the more likely he is to be recognized, but Johnny's neighborhood feels friendlier, less risky.

Today, they're going to the farmer's market at the park and picking stuff up for Johnny to make dinner. It's a brisk walk, Mark's hands in his pockets and his beanie tight over his ears, as Johnny points out landmarks.

They're walking up 110th when Johnny points across the street to a boxy building, shuttered at this hour, and says, "That's my usual watering hole. They do a mean margarita."

"Oh, sweet," Mark says, marveling at the concept of having a neighborhood bar. He drinks, sure, but usually just stuff in the dorms or having whatever with dinner.

Johnny laughs, shaking his head, and when Mark looks at him in confusion, he slings his arm around Mark's shoulder and steers them past a bicyclist who shouldn't be on the sidewalk.

"We'll probably hit it up before you go, if you're okay with that."

"Yeah, sure. I mean, why wouldn't I be?" Mark asks.

Johnny tilts his head, and he squeezes Mark's shoulder and then lets his hand drop, since they've cleared the cyclist. "It's a gay bar."

Mark _feels_ like he wants to trip, but he doesn't. That would be stupid. It's just a bar.

A voice in the back of his head reminds him that Mark Lee can't be caught dead or alive in a gay bar, but he tells it to fuck off. If Johnny thinks it's safe enough to go, Mark will go. He'll be supportive. He'll figure it out.

"Oh, it's cool you live so close to one," Mark says. "You can just walk."

"Right," Johnny agrees, and Mark glances at him, wary at the tone in his voice. "So you'd be okay coming?"

They've made it to the market, and Mark is almost immediately distracted by a stall with two giant containers stacked full of watermelons. But it's impossible to shake how serious the conversation has turned. "Yeah, why not?"

"I mean, we both know why not, Mark. I'd understand if you were uncomfortable."

Mark smiles at a little girl in a stroller before he remembers he has his mask on. He turns one of the watermelons to see how ripe it is, testing the heft of it, the water content. It's easier to talk about this without looking at Johnny, for some reason. "Maybe I am, a little bit," he admits. "But it's because of the job thing, not because of… other reasons."

The bustle of the market almost claims Johnny's quiet huff, but Mark's perked ears catch it. "It's okay if it's for other reasons."

Mark does look up, abandoning his quest for a perfect melon, and stares at Johnny, who looks back at him steadily, face nearly blank. "No, I mean. I thought we talked about this? I don't care that you're bi."

Johnny nods. "I believe you. But there's a difference between not caring about it and seeing what it's all about. If you aren't ready for that, I'm not gonna push you."

Mark feels like he should have remembered gloves; his hands are freezing suddenly. He clenches them into fists. He kind of can't believe they're having this conversation across a pile of watermelons. "I'm ready. Or as ready as I'll get. I guess I do have, like, questions—" He cuts himself off. He doesn't know where to start. He's afraid if he starts asking questions, he'll find out they're horribly offensive. Inexplicably, his freezing palms feel damp.

"Walk with me?" Johnny suggests, after they stand there in silence for a few moments. "We'll grab you a watermelon on the way out. I don't think you want to carry one the whole time."

"Yeah, word," Mark agrees.

He and Johnny move as a unit, looking over a whole lot of artisan nut butters, then some beef from local farms. Johnny pauses to pay for an apple, rubbing it on his jacket like that's gonna get the germs off. He starts eating it as they keep meandering past stalls.

"I don't really know that many gay people. Uh, queer people," Mark corrects. "Really mostly Ten. Or I guess I don't know that many _out_ queer people." He thinks of the stylists and makeup artists and various people he's come in contact with that gave him a vibe, even if he tries not to think like that, pigeonholing people based on stereotypes. He thinks about the fact that he has his own suspicions about a few of his members, and how Ten's always told him not to ask, just to wait.

"Understandable. I doubt it's much easier to come out there than it was when I left."

"Probably not."

Johnny flips his apple to its other side and munches happily enough, shoulders relaxed as Mark glances at him from the corner of his eye.

"You said you had questions," Johnny says once he's done chewing and swallowing. "You can ask me, dude. I promise I'm not gonna think it's weird."

Mark considers it for a minute, wondering where to start. "Like, when did you realize you're bi?" Mark asks. "I know how Ten realized he was gay"—given that he told Mark the story a few times to make him feel better about his own embarrassing crushes on girls, how Ten got a crush on a kid in grade one and wrote him a love letter—"and that all, like, makes sense. But I think the idea of being bi is kind of… new to me? Because I haven't been around anyone who is."

"I kinda always suspected there was something going on with me, but I didn't really have any reason to explore it until I was already under contract in Seoul full time. So summer after high school, maybe?"

Mark blinks. He expected something more like Ten's story, something known early and unavoidably, but he guesses this is why he's asking and Johnny's answering. To widen his perspective. "That must have been… a lot," he says.

"Yeah," Johnny laughs, and tosses the apple core into a waiting trash can. "I made out with another trainee in a literal closet after someone snuck in soju. After that, I couldn't stop pretending anymore."

"So you were, like, actively not trying to think about it?" That tracks, Mark thinks, based on the few things he knows already. Johnny was slow to admit it to himself, apparently, and then didn't come out for years after. Johnny could have come out the minute he got out of his contract and returned to the States, but he didn't. He waited until he was settled in a career and a life a million kilometers away from what he was before.

Johnny adjusts his scarf. "You bet your ass I was trying not to think about it. Back in Northbrook, it was easy to ignore all the times I'd check out dudes in the locker room and stick to dating girls. But it was a whole different ball game in Korea. We were all in each other's pockets, everyone was attractive, and the dating ban…" Johnny clicks his tongue. "I was a horny fucking mess, dude."

Mark giggles, startled, even as he worries someone overheard them. "Oh my God. I'll bet."

"So I messed around with a couple of people in the company—guys, one girl—until I figured out it wasn't just a phase and it wasn't me being hard-up for sex." Johnny's breezily matter-of-fact, but something about it makes Mark feel shy. It reminds him of how he used to feel around the hyungs when they would allude to things Mark was too young for.

But it's ridiculous, because Mark's twenty-three and not a wide-eyed virgin anymore. He hopes what Johnny can see of his face looks chill.

"Then there was Tennie," Johnny finishes, like that's the end of the story, and maybe it is. At least this part of it.

"And then you left," Mark adds.

In front of them, there's a bit of a line for a stall, so they have to wind around it, though Johnny's clearly curious to see what's so popular, craning over his shoulder to read the handmade signs.

"Yeah," he says distractedly. "I left."

"Was it easier when you were back in Chicago?"

Johnny snorts. "I mean, I wasn't on a leash, so that was easier. But I didn't come out until my second—no, my third year in college."

"Your folks?" he hazards.

"Yeah, didn't want to freak them out. But I had a boyfriend, and I was, like, pretty reconciled to everything."

Something about the idea of Johnny with a boyfriend feels odd to Mark. Maybe it's because he's never seen Ten, his one example, date; Ten's had little affairs and flings, but never in front of Mark, and never so serious he would use the term _boyfriend_.

He's seen pictures of Johnny with his handful of high school girlfriends, pretty on his arm, and he watched Johnny flirt effortlessly—or what seemed effortlessly, to Mark's puny teen brain—with a bunch of girls. When he tries to picture Johnny smiling with his arm around some guy's waist, it fuzzes out.

"Have you had a lot of boyfriends?" Mark asks.

Johnny's expression turns wry, and he smiles with teeth, like Mark's really amusing him. "A few," he says. "I've been single for a minute, though."

"Mood," Mark says, and raises his fist for a bump of solidarity.

Johnny looks at his hand suspended in the air and snickers. "I hate to break it to you, man, but you're not gonna break that streak for a while. Not when you're still with the company."

Mark drops his hand and slides it into his pocket sheepishly. "Look, I've gotten away with it before, I can probably get away with it again."

Johnny's eyebrows rise. "So you've dated?"

"Kinda. Sorta. Not a lot. There was a girl right after debut, but her group dissolved and she moved back home. Just a couple of, um, you know." He doesn't know how to say _just a couple of hookups and failed attempts at hookups_ without literally saying that. Mark settles on, "A couple of things after that."

"Huh. Holy shit." Johnny looks honestly surprised, then thoughtful, and Mark whacks a hand against Johnny’s chest, rebuffed by the bulk of his sweater and the jacket over it.

"C'mon, man, you know people were always messing around even when they had the ban in place. _You_ did, with that trainee."

"Yeah, uh, there's knowing that, and then there's wrapping my brain around the idea of little Markie putting the moves on."

"I wasn't, like, _twelve_ ," Mark complains, but takes it for the teasing it is. Jaehyun did the same thing when he accidentally saw some of Mark's text messages to a girl he was trying to get with during a tour stop, shaking his head like he couldn't believe reality but then smiling widely and digging his elbow into Mark's ribs, telling him to _be safe_. "Give me some credit, c'mon."

"Oh, I give you and your bone structure all the credit in the world," Johnny says, "but you know it's my solemn duty to remind you of the time that girl at SOPA asked you out—"

"Oh my God," Mark groans, humiliation sweeping over him at the memory Johnny's dragged up from the depths. Not even the other members have thought to tease him about this in years. "No, don't."

He starts power-walking away from Johnny, who has much longer legs and a tenacious streak and doesn't let Mark go far.

"And you got so nervous when you tried to say yes that you _burped at her_ ," Johnny says, loud enough that anyone trying to enjoy their day and buy some vegetables could hear.

Mark tucks himself into a space between a bench and a tree and stomps frantically, hand coming up to cover his face, even as Johnny turns breathless with laughter.

"I'm better since then, I swear," Mark says, still writhing, as Johnny doubles over. "Dude, it's not funny," he says helplessly, even though he's laughing too, thinking of that poor girl's face and the way Mark nearly burst into tears telling everyone about it at the dorms, how Yuta literally howled while Taeil tried to pat Mark's back and tell him this sort of thing happens to everyone at least once.

"It's _hilarious_ ," Johnny argues, straightening back up and tossing his hair. He's red-cheeked with the cold and slight breeze, and with how hard he's laughing at Mark's expense. "It really is."

The two of them grin at each other, Mark behind his mask but sure his eyes are giving the game away, until Mark comes back to earth and remembers they're standing in the middle of a market and haven't gotten anything but Johnny's single apple.

He's about to suggest they go actually get some food, especially his fresh watermelon, when Johnny flicks his gaze over Mark and shakes his head, looking fond.

"Every time I realize you're actually here, it blows my mind, dude," he says, and Mark shivers against the cold, wrapping his arms around himself to stave it off.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I know the feeling."

🍂🍂🍂

When they get back to Johnny's apartment, much later in the day, Mark's arms are definitely sore from carrying the watermelon—or, well, carrying it until Johnny laughed at the strained expression on his face and took it off his hands. Johnny strips off his outer layers and gets to work washing all the produce and chicken they bought, and he whips them up a lunch in what feels like no time.

The food is fucking delicious; Johnny was never a terrific cook, especially compared to Taeyong and Haechan, but he could get by without burning stuff. Whatever's happened in the last six years that got him to cook chicken this tender and roast veggies with the perfect amount of seasoning, Mark sends up a silent thanks for it.

After, Mark cleans up, washing the dishes by hand, then plops onto the couch to play video games on Johnny's PS5 while Johnny goes through some emails next to him, feet propped up on the coffee table.

They pass a few hours like that, just vibing, Johnny playing music quietly in the background, Mark occasionally asking him to send him a song he likes. He loses at basically everything he tries to play, and Johnny tries to give him advice, but at this point, Mark's aware of his abilities, and being good at video games is not one of them.

"We should try something co-op," Johnny muses. "I have some spare Switch controllers somewhere, so maybe _Smash_ or something."

"Whatever you want, dude. You know you're gonna kick my ass no matter what we play."

His wrist is starting to hurt, so Mark powers down the console and does a few hand stretches. The Advil Johnny gave him that morning has long since worn off, and the tension in his shoulders and neck is starting to get distracting again. He should get up and take more, but sitting here is nice, and the kitchen feels so far away.

Mark texts his eomma an update about his day for her to read in the morning, though he's been sending her pics of Johnny's neighborhood through the morning and afternoon. He got a really good one of Johnny posing with a comically large carrot at the farmers market.

The NCT group chats are dead given the hour in Korea, but Mark sends some shots and responds to the message Taeil sent earlier to encourage him to keep talking. Taeil is so busy, and he's not the biggest fan of texting in the first place. Mark can't wait for him to be home, but he dreads it at the same time because it'll mean Taeyong has enlisted.

He's checking his email and deleting all of his spam when Johnny laughs quietly next to him, the first noise he's made in a while. Mark's head goes up, and he sees Johnny's biting his lip, staring at his phone screen.

"Sup?" Mark asks.

Johnny glances over and shakes his bangs out of his eyes. "Ah, one of my friends wants to do noraebang in Koreatown. They invited us, but I don't know if you want to do a big thing tonight."

"They invited _us_ , though? Like, they don't mind me tagging along?"

"Dude, they probably set this up just to interrogate you to get dirt on me. They're mad I didn't drag you out the night you got here." Johnny's fond expression drops into concern. "But we don't need to go out if you're not feeling it."

"I mean, what else we got going on tonight?" Mark shrugs. Despite the soreness in his neck, he's feeling pretty good; all they did was walk around and eat a light lunch and then hang out some. He's not exactly out of energy. And he's got to meet Johnny's friends sooner or later. He can't deny that he's curious about them. "Tell them we're going."

Johnny studies him for a second, then tilts his head. "It's not gonna be a crazy amount of us, maybe five all together, but like. Fair warning, we get kinda rowdy."

Mark gives him a flat look. "Who do you think I live with, monks?" He shoves Johnny's shoulder. "We're going."

"Okay," Johnny agrees, typing a reply. "Guess we're going to Midtown again. Just remember I warned you, later."

🍂🍂🍂

It turns out most of the noraebang places are BYOB, so Johnny tucks some bottles of beer and a bottle of vodka into a backpack and is careful of it on the train. Mark's hoping they don't get too trashed, or at least that Johnny's good at navigating transit when he's drunk, so they can get home safely later.

When they arrive, Mark's busy staring up at the Empire State Building, somehow way more ominous against the night sky than during the day, and doesn't realize they’re there until Johnny yanks on his arm and drags him inside.

Mark’s nearly blinded by the amount of string lights this place has. It's a wild effect, with even the ceiling lit up in thousands of glowing, multicolored tiny bulbs. Even the bar near the check-in desk is decked out, looking like it's dripping crystals. He squints for a bit until he's adjusted, fumbling out his wallet for his passport as Johnny checks in with the staff. He hopes that here, in Koreatown with Korean staff, no one looks too hard at _LEE, MINHYUNG_ and realizes he's actually a K-pop idol. It's an ugly photo of him, at least. That helps.

They're led down a hallway, also decorated with copious string lights and many posters, to a room where two people are already singing, visible through the window in the door. When Johnny opens the door, the sound of people trying their best at _I'll Make a Man Out of You_ pours out into the hallway.

Johnny ushers Mark inside first, and he slips his mask down and his beanie off and shuffles toward a seat, hoping he won't be too much of a distraction.

But then the girl stops singing to yell, "My son!" when she notices Johnny, and there's a screech of feedback as she drops the mic onto the table and launches herself forward, arms outstretched, until Johnny scoops her up in a hug.

The guy she's with gives up on singing and lets the midi-sounding backing track continue unaccompanied, and he gives a broad smile to Mark, teeth bright in the dim. He's tall, not as tall as Johnny but still much bigger than Mark, and he's got a serious undercut that makes him look borderline unapproachable if it weren't for the smile, and Mark can see his arms are a) jacked and b) tatted up. The girl, who is disentangling herself from Johnny, is wearing a flippy skirt over tights and has a beret capping her long hair. Mark, in an Adidas shirt under his puffer jacket, feels like maybe he should have tried harder.

"Yo." Mark exchanges a quick shake with him and is pulled in for one of those one-armed, bro-y hugs. "I'm Mark."

"Yejun, or Chris," he says, and smiles even wider, gesturing for Mark to sit next to him. Their knees knock together as they both settle on the skinny red couch tucked against the back wall of the room. Yejun shifts to face Mark, and the earring he's wearing dangles against his jaw. "I kinda know who you are, Mark Lee."

Mark groans. "Oh man, what did Johnny make you watch?"

"My sister, actually, and it was that one about gum," he says. "Sorry," he says unapologetically as Mark groans more. "But don't worry, he sent us the good shit when he told us you were coming. It's nice to meet you, man. John's been bouncing off the walls since you popped up again."

The music pauses as the next song's title screen loads, and Mark tries not to fixate on how Yejun called Johnny _John_. No one in the company did that, really, unless it was a joke or they were imitating Johnny's mom. They were more likely to call him Youngho.

"Hi, I'm Celeste," the girl chirps as the next song blares to life, and she sticks out a hand and grins at him. "You're Mark!"

"Hi, yeah, haha," Mark says, and tries to hide his surprise when she sits next to him and pours a glass of water that she nudges in his direction. It's not that he minds not sitting next to Johnny, but now he's sandwiched between Johnny's friends and has no idea what to say to them. "I like your hat," he says dumbly, and visibly is jolted by the cackling laugh she gives, sounding not unlike Taeyong.

" _Thank_ you," she says, and flips a hand up to frame it like she's modeling it. "It keeps my head very warm."

"Girl, you're missing Linkin Park," Johnny says, pointing at the screen behind her.

As Mark blinks at Johnny's off-the-cuff use of _girl_ , Celeste makes a frantic face and pops up off the couch, scrambling for her mic.

Johnny takes advantage of the vacancy to close the gap between him and Mark, and he slings his arm over Mark's shoulder and leans in to half-shout, "Do you want to order food?" over the sound of Celeste belting.

"We thought we'd wait for Sky," Yejun says.

Johnny shakes his head. "Nope, I'm starving. We can order more when they get here."

They press the button to call for service and order a pizza and some sides, Mark requesting chicken wings, and Yejun pours Mark and Johnny some Bokbunja, which goes down way smooth. They pass a few minutes without singing, as Celeste pauses the playlist after _In the End_ to order more food.

Yejun and Mark end up talking about Yejun's job; he works in IT, and Celeste works in some sort of production, and Yejun asks him questions about Mark's life that aren't intrusive or clearly after insider idol info, whatever that is. Sometimes, he can feel people practically salivating to ask him about his supposedly charmed life, or trying to pry secrets out of him, but Yejun seems like he just wants to know how Mark spends his time when he's not actively on stage.

It's nice. Johnny's friends are mad nice.

Mark's chewing on a slice of pizza and navigating the catalog of songs on the iPad with his clean hand, humming along softly to Yejun's soft tenor doing a serviceable job at Bruno Mars, when the door opens again and someone wearing an outfit nearly as sparkly as the lobby of this place comes inside, their afro swept to one side. They're holding a giant bottle of whiskey.

"Heeyyyy," everyone chants, and Mark raises his hand to wave.

Mark remembers Johnny saying _they_ and makes a mental note not to fuck that up.

"Is this Mark? Oh my gosh! Hi!"

Johnny takes their booze and adds their coat to the pile on the couch.

"Yeah, I'm Mark, it's nice to meet you. Sky, right?" he says, and he's tipsy enough to be less nervous now, so he stands up to greet them properly. He ends up swept up into a little hug, and he giggles an, "Oh, okay! Nice," and squeezes them back gingerly.

"I'm so glad you could come out with us tonight," they say, and they're smiling directly at him, making eye contact, a dimple in one cheek.

Seriously. Everyone's so _nice_. He forgot how friendly Americans can be, even transactional New Yorkers. And Mark doesn't get a chance to meet a lot of people not in the industry, let alone the chance to spend quality time hanging out.

Celeste is chanting "shots, shots, shots" at an increasing volume, so any longer conversation with Sky has to wait.

"I didn't bring any mixers," they say apologetically, sitting next to Johnny on his other side and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Hi, honey!"

"Hi, babe," Johnny says, and kisses their temple.

Mark laughs, though he's not quite sure where it comes from, and takes the shot glass Celeste holds out for him. The whiskey burns on the way down, feeling like it might come out of his nose somehow, and Celeste makes a delighted hissing sound and slaps her shot glass down on the table victoriously.

The next hour or so blurs together: Mark ends up with Celeste and Sky tucked close to him, sharing the mic as they all overdramatically sing Harry Styles; at one point, they bust out Johnny’s vodka and Mark gets even drunker; he looks around for Johnny after coming back from the bathroom and finds him in a corner with Yejun, talking intently, Yejun's hand resting on Johnny's thigh. That actually penetrates his fog of drunkenness, and Mark's startled by the spike of bitterness that pierces his stomach.

He forces himself to look away and rolls his shoulders. He likes Yejun, a lot, so far; he's cool in a way Mark always hopes rubs off on him, but he just reminded Mark what an outsider he is. He knows _John_ , after all.

Mark finds himself staring at the bizarre track video playing on the screen, not matching the lyrics or having a discernible storyline in any way, and reminds himself he does know Johnny, and in ways none of the people do here, and that it's weird to get possessive about friends.

Luckily, Celeste puts on vintage Eminem, and that's what snaps Mark out of his strange, drunken sulk. Honestly, he fucking kills _Lose Yourself_. Eight-year-old Mark would be proud.

All of them hype him up when he's done, and Yejun slams on the applause button repeatedly as Mark takes a tiny victory lap around the cramped room.

Then the next song starts, and Mark's shoulders rise as he realizes what it is.

He should have expected they'd have NCT songs here; sometimes, when members go to coin noraebang, all they have is, like, _Firetruck_ or _Highway to Heaven_ or random shit like that, and they'll do them as a joke, noting the officially licensed and actually correct instrumental tracks and then the ones someone clearly made in Garageband. This one sounds legit; that's fully _Regular_ , the English version, blasting out of the speakers, with another inexplicable video playing to accompany it. This one's a lot of footage of a marina.

Mark gets over his surprise and, laughing, surrenders to grabbing the mic Yejun brandishes at him, and he's about to do Taeyong's first verse when Johnny beats him to it. The mic almost slips out of Mark's hand, and he whirls to face Johnny, who is leaning against the wall, mic in one hand, whiskey and Coke in another, and he winks at Mark.

"Yo, you know this song?" Mark asks, like an idiot, because clearly he does.

"Of course he does," Celeste cackles. "He's your number-one fan."

" _I might pull up in a spaceship_ —Okay, don't get excited, I only know the title tracks," Johnny says into the mic, and then takes a long pull on his drink. Mark is staring at him, mouth parted in a bewildered smile, until Johnny points the mic at him. "We doing this or what?"

Mark shakes off his stupor and jumps in, and by the end of the song, Mark's arm is around Johnny's waist and they're sharing the same mic, Mark's own mic abandoned on the couch, Johnny's sweat and cologne in his nose, Johnny's excited bounces next to him almost lifting Mark off his feet as they scream-sing the final chorus.

It only hurts a little, to imagine a world where Johnny's voice is in the real track and not just echoing from a cheap noraebang mic.

🍂🍂🍂

Mark's way less drunk when they leave, having been cut off by Celeste and given a steady stream of water glasses that made him feel like his bladder was going to explode, but he's still giggling and excited and pumped full of endorphins. He hugs everyone goodbye of his own volition, ending with Yejun, whose shoulder bears the sharp point of Mark's chin digging into it.

"We need to hang again before you leave," Yejun says, and Celeste, in the middle of fixing her lopsided and limp beret, takes charge and announces they're going to meet up later that week, after everyone with a nine-to-five is done with work. Everyone adds it to their phone calendars.

It turns out Celeste and Sky are roommates, so they toddle off together in the opposite direction of where Johnny and Mark are headed, and Yejun walks with Johnny and Mark to their subway stop, grabbing another hug from Johnny and wiggling his fingers at Mark in goodbye. He pops the collar of his leather jacket as he walks away.

"Man, Yejun's so cool," Mark enthuses as they tromp down the stairs, Mark holding the railing for balance in case his equilibrium is fucked up from the booze still in his system. The last thing he needs to do is ruin his vacation by falling down stairs and smashing his face on the ground.

Johnny, on his phone and visibly way more sober than Mark, even if he didn't drink much in the way of water, snorts. "Of course you like my ex."

Mark's clear of the steps, but he feels like he might slip and fall anyway. "Wait, he's your _ex_? Oh my God!" Johnny steers him to the correct platform, and Mark leans against a pillar, eyes glued to Johnny, trying to picture it, trying to see if Johnny looks sad or regretful. "Isn't that way awkward?"

"We only dated for like six months, so nah, it's fine. He's a good guy." Johnny’s looks more amused than anything. There’s not a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"Why'd you break up?" Mark asks, trying to wrap his head around Johnny dating Yejun and then staying close friends with him. Having private conversations in a noraebang room, Yejun's hand on his thigh.

Did he call him _John_ in bed, Mark wonders, and pushes the thought away, letting it burn off like the alcohol still in his veins.

"We were just too similar," Johnny shrugs.

"Oh, okay."

Johnny goes back to scrolling through his phone, and Mark would pull his out too and play it cool, but he's too drunk and dumbfounded to manage it, the concept of being close to an _ex_ still so foreign to him

As their train arrives and people pour off, Johnny's forehead wrinkles, and his mouth turns down. He glances up at Mark, then at his phone, and ultimately shakes his head. He puts his phone in his coat pocket and guides Mark onto the train with a hand at his back, and Mark knows something's up, but he waits until they're seated to ask.

"What is it?"

"I have a news alert for your name, in case someone spots you."

Mark's stomach sinks, and he feels every ounce of water and liquor churning around in there. He feels his hands clam up almost instantly. "Oh fuck."

Johnny pulls out his phone and shows Mark the article, which is of course on Koreaboo, all about how Mark's taking a vacation. It speculates where he could have gone, and why, and makes a point of saying it's a sudden, unplanned trip, but luckily, the speculation lands nowhere close to New York.

"Jesus." He scrubs his face, feeling numb. He's not in any mental place to deal with this right now. "Someone leaked it."

"The company did," Johnny says grimly. "You didn't tell them where you're going, so they don't know enough to leak that you're here. But they sold the story anyway."

Johnny's right, Mark realizes. Only the band, Johnny, Jong-hoon-hyung, and his parents know Mark is Manhattan, but all the people Mark emailed know he's left in general. If they knew he was in New York, that would be in the article for sure.

He doesn't know what the play is here. Some sort of mind game? Punishment? Is it an accident? Just someone being sloppy and mentioning it in front of the wrong person?

Johnny must notice him going down the rabbit hole of agonizing over whether this is intentional, meant to fuck with him, because he pulls Mark under his arm, puts a hand at the back of his neck, and squeezes the tension away there.

"I got you," Johnny says quietly. "We're going to email your lawyer and let him know there's a leak, and he'll handle it, okay? Don't worry."

"Okay," Mark says, shaky.

Despite the confusion, the fear, the fact that people are going to be primed to sniff out his location, start spamming his Bubble with questions about where he is, what he's doing, being held against Johnny like this feels like security. Mark's heart flutters like a trapped bird, but he knows he's safe. He knows Johnny's got him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Doom for your help with NYC, specifically Johnny's neighborhood!!!!!!
> 
> Follow us on Twitter: 🐍 is [@sneakethsnek](https://twitter.com/sneakethsnek) and 🐱 is [@johnnyseo_paws](https://twitter.com/johnnyseo_paws).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content note:** For the emetophobic folks, there's some mentions of Mark being nauseated, and an allusion to being ill, but there's no actual illness on screen. 
> 
> 🐱: WELCOME TO MARK LEE BEING A MESS. This chapter was a Wild Ride to write, and baby's got so many feelings, we couldn't keep the word count down again.
> 
> My eternal thanks to sneaky for making this chapter a breeze to get through, and for writing some of the best one-liners from this entire fic; and thanks to Tay for the beta read, as well as putting up with this insane slow-burn.
> 
> 🐍: This chapter's a big one!!!! And we've got two more huge ones to close out the saga!!!!! Hugs as usual to the lovely Tay, who blasted through this chapter's beta despite feeling like garbo, and thanks to our readers for being unbelievably kind.

Mark spends half the night into the very early hours freaking out on Johnny's couch, stone-cold sober and miserable, and with a mounting neckache to boot. He thought he was doing himself a solid by sleeping on the couch proper and not the fold-out, but his muscles are angry, tense, and twisted when he wriggles a hand behind his head to cautiously squeeze them.

Sleep is pointless. Mark gives it a try, after Johnny sternly tells him to rest after they've sent an email to Mr. Kim notifying him of the leak, since there's nothing Mark can do from New York but wait for his lawyer to handle it. But then the messages start pouring in—Jong-hoon, Taeyong, Yuta, and even Ten, who sends Mark a selfie of him and Yangyang in a practice room shooting twin peace signs and cheesy grins in an attempt to cheer him up.

 **[Ten 2:26 a.m.]  
**_> Fighting, lil bro!!!!  
__> This won't matter in a week I promise_ 😘

His mom hasn't texted him, though he doubts she missed the news; she probably thinks he's asleep and shouldn't be disturbed. On his vacation. Where he should be having fun and resting, not lying awake and cursing under his breath and praying for clarity in equal measure.

At around 3:30, Mark gets a response from Mr. Kim's assistant. Apparently, they're handling it, whatever that means; Mark wonders if this is going to help the contract negotiations, if there's some silver lining to all this bullshit.

_We've told SM Entertainment Co., Ltd. to desist from making any statements about you or your whereabouts at this time, but we are happy to draft something that meets with your approval and send it along to them for publication._

Mark, weary, unsure of what the best action is and not exactly in his usual comfort zone of being able to call an informal meeting with the band to hash things out, tells them to go ahead and draft something.

The draft arrives almost instantaneously; they must have had it ready for him. It's short, almost terse, and Mark sends a few revisions, emphasizing he wants to leave the other members the hell out of it, and mentions SM might want to spruce it up themselves, since they're a well-oiled publicity machine.

Mr. Kim replies to that directly: _They have had enough to say on your behalf to this point, Mr. Lee. Let us retrieve control from them as we move forward._

 _Fair enough_ , he thinks, resigned.

An hour later, he gets confirmation that a press release is pending and that SM is launching an internal investigation into the leak; he gets a personal note from a board member on the subject, apologizing for the breach. Mark's not exactly feeling gracious toward the company right now, so he's not sure how to take that, if it's genuine—and he has a pretty good idea the leaker is one of the five people he emailed, so the investigation is going to look terrible for them if they do go through with it.

He tries to remind himself that's not his problem. His priority is this trip, decompressing, focusing on reconnecting with Johnny. Still, it's hard to fantasize about being anonymous in the crowd and acting like a tourist now that there's this dark cloud of awareness over him. A suspicion that he's being… maybe not watched, but anticipated.

The group chat explodes when SM releases the official statement Mr. Kim oversaw, basically saying he's taking a "short trip for rest and relaxation between schedule commitments." Mark's up for another hour fielding questions and outraged complaints from everyone, even Taeil once he's done with his shift for the day, until he hears Johnny's bedroom door open.

"Dude," Johnny says, voice crackly with sleep as he shuffles into the living room, bangs flopped in front of one eye. "Tell me you've slept."

"I've, like, catnapped," Mark says, sitting upright and wincing when a muscle spasms at the base of his neck.

Johnny sighs and puts his hands on his hips. He looks like a wash of all gray in the dim, very early morning light. Mark's phone is the only reason they can see each other beyond shadows. "The couch is killing you, isn't it?"

"It's not that bad," Mark says, but after a night of anxiety, he's not great at selling it.

"Go sleep in my room. And get _actual_ sleep, okay. Better leave your phone under the pillow."

"I'm not kicking you out of your bed," Mark protests.

Johnny sighs with exasperation and sits next to Mark, closer than Mark was expecting, and immediately starts working at the mess of muscles and tendons giving Mark trouble. He groans and lets his head loll forward; Johnny's not being delicate, he's really hammering at it, and so much that it hurts in the best possible way.

"I'm not gonna be able to get back to sleep if I know you're out here, in pain and freaking out."

" _I'm_ not gonna be able to sleep if you're out here, trying to fit your big-ass body on this couch."

Johnny works his thumb at the hinge of Mark's jaw and ear, then the tense spot behind it. Mark thinks he feels something pop and hopes it wasn't important, but Johnny's hands feel so good. Sometimes Yong or Yuta will do this for him, but Yuta doesn't have the patience for it, and Yong's bony fingers are almost _too_ strong; he always leaves bruises. Johnny's hands are just right, though, and bigger than anyone else's; Mark feels like Goldilocks. Just the right amount of pressure and warmth.

"I have a solution," Johnny says, leaning in even more to be conspiratorial despite the fact that they're totally alone but for the watch of Johnny's house plants.

For a second, Mark wonders if Johnny wants to try a hotel. "Hit me," he says, and Johnny starts on his shoulders. Something definitely pops then.

"I have a California king, bro. We could share."

Mark's first instinct is to say no, loudly, but thankfully he curbs that. "Uh, what?"

"I'm not letting you wreck your body," Johnny says, "so either we swap, or we bunk together." He gives Mark's shoulders one last powerful squeeze. "It'll be fun. Like a sleepover from the old days."

"You mean when you stole all the blankets and left me to freeze all night? You mean like those good old days?" But Mark's heart isn't in it—not the banter, and honestly not even the rejection. Sinking into an actual mattress with good pillows, surrounded by the smell of Johnny's expensive lotion—it sounds really damn good.

"I'm a much more polite bedmate now," Johnny protests, and if he trips over the word _bedmate_ , Mark's sure as heck not going to call him on it.

In this gray little world, before sunrise, with Mark's body heavy with exhaustion and concern, he wants to be comfy.

Plus if he's weirded out over the idea of sharing a bed with Johnny, it either means he's still in a headspace where Johnny is half a stranger, or he's being shitty about the bi thing. Both of those reasons suck to varying degrees.

"You promise I'm not gonna fuck up your sleep?" Mark asks.

"Pinky swear." Johnny doesn't hold out his pinky, though; he pops up onto his feet, stretches wide and yawns, and tells Mark he's going to piss. "You better be snug as a bug in a rug when I get back to the bedroom, dude," he says warningly, leveling a finger in Mark's direction before wandering off.

Mark brings Blue and one of his pillows, hobbling on cold flooring—Johnny turns his heater way down at night, which Mark gets, but it sucks for his feet—until he's standing in Johnny's bedroom and processing that this is happening. Johnny's room has a night light in the corner, casting a weak golden glow that dies down at the foot of his bed.

The bed is indeed a California king, covers mussed, so wide there's almost no room for other furniture. There's a metal chair with an outfit draped over it, ready for the next day, and Johnny's dresser is organized chaos. On the wall is a mounted shelf filled with cameras, some functional and some looking to be antiques.

He blinks at everything in front of him, this piece of domesticity that feels brand new and secret even if he's seen it from a lot of Johnny's selcas and video calls, and hears the toilet flush in the other room. Mark forces himself forward, and sinking into Johnny's bed feels like sinking into a marshmallow, but a marshmallow with back support. He actually sighs.

Johnny finds him clutching Blue and staring at the ceiling, and Mark's stomach goes tight when Johnny slides in next to him, but there's plenty of room for them both. Whatever fancy mattress Johnny has keeps his movement from rattling Mark in the slightest, too.

"You're sleeping in," Johnny says, punching his pillow under his head. Mark can feel his eyes on him, and he clutches Blue tighter. It's not like Mark hasn't shared a bed before, and ones much smaller than this. He passes out on Yuta's bed a few times a month, and Jungwoo sometimes falls asleep on Mark's shoulder while trying to explain mobile game strategy to him. It's just—it doesn't smell like the home he's used to. It smells like Johnny, like wood and something else, something that brings Mark back many years. "Hey, gimme your phone."

"What?"

"You're going to just keep checking it. I'll keep it on my nightstand so if someone calls we'll wake up."

Mark bites back an argument and passes it over despite how it feels like he's parting with a limb. It's for the best he doesn't keep winding himself up. Johnny drops it onto the nightstand with a careful thunk.

"Can we go for a long walk or something tomorrow?" Mark asks. "I think I'm building up energy that I'd, like, normally work out in the practice room."

Johnny yawns, and Mark hears him nestle into the covers. "For sure. There's a skate park near here if you wanna do tricks or something."

"Oh, sweet."

"Night, Markie," Johnny says, sounding half-asleep already, voice so low it seems to rumble from his chest.

"Night, Johnny. Or morning now, haha."

Despite all the reasons his brain is yelling at him to stay up, to fix things, to think until he comes up with a satisfactory plan, Mark finds himself dozing off relatively quickly. Johnny's breathing next to him is even, soothing, and as Mark slips under too, he finds himself thinking _I could get used to this_.

🍂🍂🍂

Mark sleeps in until past noon, and when he wakes, he's confused about his surroundings for a hot second. When he rolls over and sees Johnny's face, lax with sleep, it registers where he is. Johnny looks younger--young again--in the fall light streaming in from his window.

Mark carefully extracts himself from the bed and tiptoes to grab his phone, which predictably has so many notifications it makes his head spin. He handles the most urgent ones in the bathroom—a text from his mom, a few messages from staff, including one about an upcoming magazine shoot when he gets back to Korea. Mark tries to forget about it all in the shower, which pounds away a lot of his remaining tension; Johnny's massage and the bed helped a lot, though they didn't eradicate all of his soreness.

Once he's out and dressed in a hoodie and sweats, he eats some watermelon and leftover rice and answers the group chat messages he neglected.

Taemin-hyung and Jongin-hyung have messaged the SuperM group chat, and Taeyong was quick to chime in and tell them there was nothing wrong when they expressed concern. Mark appreciates it; he doesn't want to worry anyone, which is half of why he didn't tell anybody outside of the members. But the SuperM members are his extended family too now, after three reality shows, two world tours, and a lot of exhausted, slap-happy late nights having deep conversations and soaking up all the wisdom they dispense.

**[Me 12:12 p.m.]  
** _> Hey guys, Ty is right, I'm totally fine  
_ _> I had nothing to do and decided to recharge with a holiday haha_

**[Bacon 12:14 p.m.]  
** _> He speaks!  
> I hope you're texting us from a beach with a drink in your hand_

Mark isn't sure of telling them specifics but realizes if anyone's going to keep him safe, it's the hyungs, and Lucas hasn't spilled a single secret in the many years Mark has been telling them.

 **[Jongin 12:15 p.m.]  
**_> Holiday life  
__> I miss it _😢

**[Ty Track 12:15 p.m.]  
** _> Weren't you just on vacation hyung? You sent me pictures from a yacht…_

**[Me 12:16 p.m.]  
** _> It's top-secret but I'm in New York _

**[Jongin 12:16 p.m.]  
** _> Fancy_

**[Bacon 12:17 p.m.]  
** _> Good, you deserve a vacation. Did you remember to use your frequent flyer miles?_

Mark definitely did not remember to do that, especially since so much of his travel is handled by the company and they rack up most of his miles.

**[Me 12:17 p.m.]  
** _> I didn't really tell anyone but the members and a few staff that I was leaving so I was surprised at the article haha_

**[Bacon 12:18 p.m.]  
** _> Someone's getting fired for that leak then_

**[Me 12:19 p.m.]  
** _> I hope it doesn't have to come to that but seems like the company is taking it seriously_

**[Jongin 12:19 p.m.]  
** _> hhh remember when I fucked off to Cebu City and gave the managers a heart attack_

**[Bacon 12:20 p.m.]  
** _> No I forgot somehow_

**[10 out of 10 12:20 p.m.]  
** _> Oh he's not just in NEW YORK CITY  
_ _> He's staying with Johnny Suh_

Mark groans but can't find it in himself to care that Ten's telling all of his business. He was probably going to tell them anyway, but he didn't have a good lead-in to it that wasn't, "Hey, remember Johnny from a million years ago?"

**[Jongin 12:20 p.m.]  
** _> JOHNNY_

**[Bacon 12:20 p.m.]  
** _> JOHNNY!!!_

Lucas and Taemin are nowhere to be found in the chat, but at two a.m. in Korea, he knows they've been unconscious for a while. Kai's up past his usual bedtime too, and that becomes evident when he tells Mark he's happy he's on vacation and having a good time, and to tell Johnny hello from him, but that he's overdue for his beauty rest.

The chat dies down a bit, and Mark would bet Ten was counting on his announcement re: Johnny to make more of a splash, but Mark seriously doubts anyone in EXO was in love with Johnny too, or whatever. To them, he's an old friend, a former trainee who drifted away like many others do.

Taeyong and Baekhyun are grilling him over what he's doing on his vacation and if he and Johnny are getting up to no good; Mark sends them a few of the shots he's taken. He's sent some to the 127 chat, and a smaller handful to Ten; Mark considers making a new chat so he doesn't have to do this all over again with Dream. It might be time to bust out the old NCT 2020 group chat and save himself from answering the same questions over and over again.

Johnny chooses to emerge when Mark's finished his breakfast and is washing the dishes at the sink, peering over at his phone to laugh at Baekhyun's increasingly ridiculous suggestions on where to go and how to let loose.

"Morning, sunshine," Johnny says, refilling his water bottle. "You look like you're in a good mood."

"Just… group chat nonsense, man. The SuperM hyungs are always fun."

"I would pay cash money to see you all interact," Johnny says, sitting at the kitchen table.

Mark finishes up and wipes his wet hands on his sweatpants. "You can pay cash money for our reality show," he says cheekily, sitting down across from him. "Kai and Baekhyun say hi, and I'm sure Taemin would if he was awake."

"Who else is in the group?" Johnny asks, wiping his mouth after an overeager gulp of water. "You, Ten, Taeyong, and that Lucas guy, yeah?"

"Yeah, Lucas. You'd like him." Lucas is hard not to like in general, but he thinks Johnny would have a good time giving Lucas shit only to watch Lucas giggle through it. He's almost impervious to the kind of jokes Johnny used to make, wielding his poker face and his status as one of the oldest to watch the younger trainees panic, thinking they'd pissed him off, only for Johnny to break into a huge grin. Lucas wouldn't be fazed.

"He seems cute," Johnny says.

Mark stalls out for a second, wondering if he means _Lucas is like a giant puppy_ or _Lucas makes people quake in their boots when he walks past them, he's so hot_. Both? Neither? It's not his business, and he doesn't need to be thinking about this when it's not like Johnny's going to be meeting Lucas any time soon. If ever.

"He's mad cute. He's one of my best friends. Ten's too. Solid guy." Johnny nods, looking thoughtful, and Mark clears his throat and waves his phone. "Looks like the rough stuff is over with. I checked social media, and most of it is just begging for vacation selfies."

"You should be good," Johnny agrees. "We'll be a little more careful, but everyone's looking for you in Korea, or in Asia, not here."

"Right," Mark agrees. "Yo, you said something about a skate park last night."

"I have a board and a helmet you can use. I know you used to like learning tricks. We can go on a walk, eat some lunch, put last night's bullshit behind us." Johnny smiles at him, like Mark's done something to make him happy other than just sitting there. "You really do look better. Guess bunking with me was a good idea, huh?"

"Yeah, you're a genius or whatever," Mark says with a fond roll of his eyes. "I'mma shower."

"Cool, I'll go after you."

Mark stops by the couch to plug his phone in to charge, and letting it go doesn't feel like the enormous effort it did last night. Things are under control—a little wobbly, but Johnny was right. His lawyer's been emailed, and it's being handled. With any luck, the rest of his vacation will be bump-free.

🍂🍂🍂

Mark's ability on a skateboard is rudimentary at best. It's been ages since he last got on one that wasn't inside a concrete building for a photoshoot. His years doing hoverboard tricks are well behind him, and the skill set needed for that is a lot different from having to remember how to balance on Johnny's scuffed-up board.

Still, it's nice to be able to wobble around the ramps of the Riverside Skatepark while Johnny chills out on one of the benches with container full of $1 dumplings, offering some to Mark when Mark makes his way back to sit next to him, chest heaving from the exertion.

"Not bad for a dude who claims he's better at posing with one than being on one," Johnny says through a mouthful of dumpling. There's some soy sauce on the corner of Johnny's mouth, but Johnny manages to wipe it off before Mark can point it out. "Here, dude. You look like you're gonna keel over," Johnny adds, handing Mark an ice-cold bottle of water, which Mark takes gratefully even as the fall breeze blows through the park.

"God, I love it here," Mark says, and he's not quite sure if he means the concrete grounds or New York City as a whole, but he fucked up his nollies a bunch of times and literally no one had cared. Some skater with snake bites and an aggressive undercut helped him up when he landed on his ass. "Thanks for taking me."

"All good," Johnny says, finishing off his can of Coke and stuffing it into a paper bag. "Though I suspect you're still kind of buzzing with energy," he adds, nodding at Mark's leg that he's unconsciously been shaking.

Mark flushes, willing himself to sit still. "Sorry. Usually when I'm stressed out, I, uh—I dance. Gotta move, that kind of thing."

"No, no, I get it, you're all good, man," Johnny laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. "What I meant to say is we can hang out here a bit more, then we can check out the dog park if you want, or we can head back home and maybe work out? I haven't worked out in days, and the gym has an entire mirrored wall and space for you to dance. You just gotta plug into the aux cord. What do you think?"

Mark turns to Johnny and marvels, not for the first time, how easily Johnny seems to be able to read him, offering ideas and solutions to things with a sureness and clarity that Mark wishes he possessed, knowing exactly what to say to get Mark's jittery energy down to a manageable simmer. It reminds him a lot of how his other members handle him, but it feels different, in a manner that Mark's still trying to unravel.

"Yeah, yeah, I'd like that," Mark says, taking another long sip of his water, the condensation trickling over his fingers.

"Cool," Johnny says, leaning back and checking his phone. "Now shoo, get back out there and fix your rail stand, for fuck's sake."

Mark laughs and gets back on the board, fixing his mask and his beanie as he goes. The concrete is smooth under the wheels, and Mark allows himself to zone out, his stomach dipping when the ground shifts into a gradual slope. Ahead of him are a bunch of kids, middle schoolers by the look of them, learning the basics from a dude with a full sleeve. In the half-pipes, there are three girls with neon hair yelling as they taunt each other with dares to do increasingly terrifying tricks.

He can allow himself to believe again that things will go smoothly from here, even for a little while, his body starting to relax despite the tension of the previous evening. He takes one last skate around the park before picking the board up by the nose in front of Johnny, who shows him his phone screen, a video of Mark already spliced together and edited with some punk-pop song Mark isn't familiar with.

"Sending this to you even if you'll never post it," Johnny says cheerfully before pulling his shades down. "You ready to head back?"

"Yeah, let's go," Mark says, shoving the board under his arm.

The trek back to Johnny's apartment helps Mark work off more steam, but because his body knows he's going to be dancing soon, his energy renews, like his muscles no longer know what to do without movement and they're itching for it as much as Mark is.

The basement gym at Johnny's apartment is much bigger than Mark expected it to be, considering Johnny's sent him several selcas working out here. The floor is mostly concrete save for the spot in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors where there are a few padded mats, tiny free weights, some jump ropes for people to use.

Mark whistles. "Do you have to pay fees to use this place?" Mark asks, surprised that the gym almost looks like a private one. Even the weights rack lined with dumbbells look well-maintained. There's no one around but them at this afternoon hour, which is an added bonus.

"No special fees, really, all the tenants are just pretty great about keeping it nice," Johnny says. "Feel free to use whatever, or hook your music up, yeah? I'm just gonna zone." He gestures to his AirPods.

"Sure, yo, thanks, haha."

Mark has never been one for traditional gyms. He's not as scrawny as he used to be, and Jaehyun has taught him enough body-weight exercises that he can pretty much do a decent set of pushups when he feels like it, but most of his muscle mass really does come from all the choreography he's has to learn over the years. Well, that and squats.

Mark finds the aux cord Johnny mentioned, turns the stereo on, toggling to a dance playlist, and warms up in front of the mirror with a couple of jogs in place, as well as jumping jacks and some torso swings.

In the mirror, he can see Johnny keeping his pace on the lone treadmill, faced away from Mark.

He remembers how skinny they all used to be, the strict diets and even stricter exercise regimens imposed on them back when they were trainees. _This will build your stamina and strength_ , they were told. Mark hasn't forgotten the frustration of those days, but he is immensely grateful that they're behind him.

The Khalid song ends and NCT U's _Make A Wish_ comes on, Mark smiling to himself as he tries to remember the choreography Xiaojun and Shotaro taught him and Yangyang while they were dicking around in the practice rooms. This is the kind of dance that allows Mark to unwind—when he's going through the motions of something familiar and throwing in some of his own when he can't remember exactly how it's supposed to go.

He tries to focus on himself, on the ground beneath the mat, on his breathing, but he catches the sight of Johnny's reflection as Johnny does chin-ups. Mark's rendered useless for a couple of seconds, staring at the straining muscle of Johnny's biceps as he pulls himself up like he weighs nothing. It's insane. He's only ever seen Jaehyun and Lucas pull that off, and that's with personal trainers.

Mark hasn't had any real metric for how strong Johnny actually is, though he was aware that Johnny's very big on taking care of his body. To see him move in his element so effortlessly is still a bit of shock, but he manages to shake himself out of it, refocusing on the music.

He loses himself in it, finally, after a while. The rest of the room and Johnny fall away in favor of Mark closing his eyes, breathing in, and looking around to make use of the space, working his body fluidly, not thinking about it, and locking when the beat stutters.

The thing is, the gym's not exactly air-conditioned well, and it starts to get warmer the longer Mark dances—a stark reminder that he's not in an SM practice room. He pulls his drenched shirt off, tosses it onto the thin wooden bench next to the stereo, and gets back in front of the mirror just as _Hey Look Ma, I Made It_ starts to play.

He's in the middle of the song when he feels eyes on him, and he sees Johnny leaning against one of the machines, watching Mark dance with an expression that Mark can't exactly read. It looks—no. Johnny can't have been checking him out, can he? It doesn't add up. It really doesn't. Mark's nothing like Yejun or the men Johnny has mentioned he found cute: Jaehyun, Lucas, Steven Yeun, but Mark can still see him staring, and it makes Mark warm over. Makes Mark want to show off more, for some reason.

He throws in some body rolls, a hip thrust where there hadn't been any in the original choreography. Mark pretends to ignore Johnny's expression and focuses on his own, pretends that he doesn't see the lip Johnny has caught between his teeth or the way Johnny's eyes have gone hooded.

Mark takes a turn and gets on his toes like Haechan's Michael Jackson impression, but the moment's passed, Johnny's back turned to him as he sets up on the leg press.

He tries not to dwell on why that's disappointing.

🍂🍂🍂

Unlike the first night Mark slept next to Johnny, it's not easy to drop off. They're both up late, messing around on their phones. Johnny occasionally holds his screen in Mark's direction to laugh at a Tweet—he's got the app installed, which has Mark wanting to ask if it's a secret account or something public-facing—until he starts yawning and blinking heavily at it, his laughs at Mark's offhand comments coming a beat or two too late.

"Sweet dreams, Markie," Johnny says, slipping his phone under his pillow as he shifts onto his side, broad back to Mark.

"Night." Mark angles his phone so the glare won't bug Johnny, since he doesn't feel like sleeping just yet. His body is tired and achy in a good, familiar way, but his brain hasn't gotten the memo yet.

Agreeing to bunk with Johnny seemed so easy in the liminal space before dawn, when Mark was at the end of his rope, but now he's all too aware of each minute shift Johnny makes as he falls asleep. The hitch in his breathing. The rustle of blankets. Mark catches himself glancing over, staring at Johnny's mop of hair against the pillow, his shoulder.

He wishes there was something he could do to hasten sleep; he puts his phone down about twenty minutes after Johnny falls asleep and wills himself to join him, closing his eyes and trying to mellow his thoughts. He prays, same as usual, and while it gives him a nice sensation of peace, he's still wide awake.

Mark's considering getting up and making himself some warm milk or something, or doing pushups in Johnny's living room to exhaust himself even more, when Johnny murmurs and moves around under the covers. Mark tenses, but nothing happens. Johnny seems to be settling onto his back.

Except he starts rustling around again a minute later, and Mark hears his huge sigh—unselfconscious with sleep—as he turns onto his other side. And attaches himself to Mark.

It's not that big of a deal, Mark assures himself, as Johnny senses Mark's warm presence in his bed and tugs himself closer to it, flopping a lazy arm over Mark's torso. Yuta's ended up squishing Mark against the wall, chin digging into Mark's shoulder, his entire back covered with Yuta's front. This is like. A casual cuddle, compared to that. Even in his sleep, Johnny's pretty polite.

Except when Johnny draws a leg up and hikes it over Mark's thigh, Mark's body goes haywire, not used to Johnny's specific touch, and seems to think now is a great time to get a boner.

 _Fucking great_ , he thinks, somewhat desperately, staring at Johnny's dark ceiling as Johnny snuffles and exhales hot into the crook of Mark's neck. _This isn't weird at all._

Half of him wants to panic—like, what if Johnny wakes up? And sees Mark's hard and gets the wrong idea or laughs at him for being so hard up he responds to a little sleep cuddling—but the other half of him already suspected he would pay for being too uncomfortable to jerk off in Johnny's shower. He hasn't gotten off since the morning before his flight; he's backed up, and of course a warm body pushing him into the mattress is triggering this kind of response. He got hard a few times waking up in Yuta's arms and once, humiliatingly, in Taeyong's, but that's just a normal part of having a body, he figures.

Mark has two choices: lie here, think gross thoughts, and hope it goes down, or climb out of the bed and masturbate in Johnny's bathroom like a creep. He tries the first for a while, but when Johnny sighs again, breath fluttering over Mark's skin, he gets weird shivers and his gut tightens in anticipation.

The third possibility is that Johnny will wake up and be horrified because he thought he was holding onto someone else, someone like Yejun or any number of men Johnny has slept next to in this same bed. Done way more than slept next to, Mark imagines. The thought lurches through him uncomfortably, picturing what these walls have seen and heard.

Embarrassed by himself though no one is awake to see him, Mark is careful of sliding out of Johnny's embrace. Still, Johnny makes a small noise, Mark freezing at the bedside until he's certain Johnny's asleep—and he is, rolling over to jam his face into Mark's pillow.

Mark tiptoes to the bathroom, turns on the fan, and opens the toilet lid. He keeps the light off so he doesn't catch a glimpse of himself doing this truly dumb thing. He sets to jerking off fast and methodic, hissing under his breath over how swollen he feels with minimal touch, tucking his sleep pants under his balls. Mark tries to clear his mind and think of nothing but sensation; he usually jerks off without one specific fantasy, just a kaleidoscope of feelings and desire—a flash of a mouth, hot and open against his, a tongue curling over the head of his cock, moans as he slides inside of hot, tight, slick.

He has a flash of being pushed up against a mirrored wall, someone mouthing hot over his ear, as Mark's shirtless and covered in sweat like he was in the gym earlier. He forces down a moan. When he comes, it's so hard his toes curl, his lips pulled inward to stop any sound from escaping. His body quakes so much it feels like he could fall over.

After, ears ringing and awash with the numbing pleasure of his orgasm, Mark wipes up with toilet paper and washes his hands, stubbornly not thinking about what he did and the curl of unease in his belly.

🍂🍂🍂

It's two days after the statement from SM comes out and the reassurance that an internal investigation will be conducted that Mark's lawyer informs him the person who leaked the story has been fired.

Mr. Kim's email is straightforward about it: _Miss Seo Jihye has been dismissed from her position at SM Entertainment Co., Ltd. for the privacy breach regarding your whereabouts. There should not be any further discussion on the matter, public or otherwise, as confirmed by the company._

Mark stares at it, holding his phone over his face as he squints at his screen before he hears the door to the bedroom open, Johnny having come in after his shower, dressed once again only in a pair of black joggers, towelling his hair off.

The previous two days have been spent on more touristy shit. This morning, Johnny insisted they walk the length of Brooklyn Bridge and get pizza at Grimaldi's, which they had to wait thirty minutes in line for, but it was worth it in the end. They spent the rest of the day in the Botanical Gardens, Johnny stopping Mark every few feet in order to snap photos of him on his Polaroid ("Isn’t that, like, expensive?" "Mark, I got this film specifically for your trip, dude.").

On the way home, they stopped in a record shop that played some moody, melancholic music while they flipped through rows and rows of vinyl. He found an old school Biggie Smalls vinyl for Sungchan he'll have to be extra careful packing. Maybe he can have Johnny ship it for him rather than risking breaking it in his suitcase.

It's not gotten a lot easier to sleep next to Johnny without being super aware of how odd it is, but Mark's neck and shoulders have stopped complaining, so he's not about to go back to the couch.

"What's with the face?" Johnny asks, pulling the covers back while Mark thinks of a proper reply both to Johnny and to Mr. Kim.

"They found whoever leaked my info and fired her," Mark says, his voice hollow. He feels awful. This person's entire livelihood yanked from under them because of Mark, for a relatively minor leak in the scheme of things, and it doesn't sit right with him at all. It gnaws at his insides to know that if he hadn't gone on this trip, she would still have her job.

"Oh?" Johnny asks, fluffing up his pillow behind him, leaning against the headboard. It's still pretty early for the both of them to be in bed, the little 10:47 visible on Mark's screen, but given that the day before had been spent on a sightseeing cruise on top of today's excursions, they're both ready to conk out. "Good, then."

Mark's stomach churns. "Good? Someone got fired because of me."

"And?" Johnny asks, looking at Mark fully, his eyebrow raised. "That person was supposed to _do their job_ and protect you."

Mark sighs and sits up, rubbing his hand over his face in discomfort. He's fully aware there are things that Johnny and him don't see eye to eye on, and this is one of them.

"I dunno, man, I just—like, I can't help but think that if I wasn't here, she'd still have her job, you know?"

Johnny is still and silent as soon as Mark says it, and Mark's heart sinks into his guts when he realizes how that sounds. "Well," Johnny says quietly. "It's a good thing you won't be here much longer if that's how you feel, I guess. No more having to cover it up."

"That's not what I meant—"

"Mark," Johnny says, the look he throws at Mark sharp. "It's okay."

"No, it isn't, dude, that isn't what I meant," Mark says, and he hates this, hates that they're arguing about this while he's in Johnny's bed, but he doesn't want to walk out either. He puts both hands over his face, forces them back down, and when he looks at Johnny, Johnny's expression has softened, the line of his shoulders a fraction more relaxed. "I don't exactly enjoy people having to have a hard time on my account. Is all I meant. Not that I regret coming here at all."

"I'm sorry," Johnny says, almost immediately. "I know. I know. I—petty. I know. It's just been really nice having you around." Johnny seems like he wants to say something more, and Mark waits, but he leaves it at that and looks up. "I'm sorry."

The air is blanketed by discomfort that Mark isn't too happy about, but it doesn't seem like there's much to be done about it at the moment. They're both tired, the darkness under Johnny's eyes evident now.

"Hey, it's cool," Mark says, trying to roll out the tension from his shoulders. "Let's, uh, like, sleep it off. I think we're both cranky, haha."

Johnny gives Mark a small smile, right before he yawns and blinks away the tears that come with it. "Yeah, you're right," he says, turning out the light from the lamp next to him. The room drops into mostly darkness, visibility from the night light and the street lamps from outside Johnny's window. "Let's sleep in, yeah?"

"Yeah," Mark says, slipping back under the covers, just before Johnny turns in bed, his back to Mark. "Night, Johnny."

"Night, Mark," Johnny says.

Mark stays still, staring up at the ceiling as Johnny's breathing begins to even out into something softer, slower. He glances at the vast expanse of Johnny's back, the muscles still defined despite being relaxed as Johnny slips into sleep. He worries that his small irritations with Johnny—especially with how blase he seems to be about Mark's place in SM, offering small, snide remarks about the company like he's one of the irritating fans Mark's trained himself not to listen to—are starting to wear on him, but he hopes that tonight really was just a remnant of being tired, not tired of Johnny per se.

He drifts off thinking about the small, hurt expression on Johnny's face before he shuttered it away.

🍂🍂🍂

When Mark wakes up, he knows that the day's going to be a little off, though he can't exactly put his finger on why. It's 9:03 a.m. when he checks his phone for the time, and Johnny's already out of bed, his side already gone cold when Mark reaches out to touch the pillow.

He finds Johnny in the living room, sitting on the couch with half a bagel on his plate and Netflix on, and Mark almost expects him to be cold, but Johnny is very much himself, and Mark needs to get his head out of his ass.

He leaves for Seoul in less than seventy-two hours, and there are still so many things he wants to get done. It crosses his mind briefly that maybe he could extend his stay, not rush things so much, especially since things are awkward, at least on his end, from last night's… whatever that was, but Johnny snaps Mark out of his reverie when he says, "So, what do you wanna do today?"

Mark wants to make it up to him, and he wants to sate his curiosity.

"I was thinking of maybe checking out that gay bar nearby? I could do with some margaritas," Mark says, going for chill and nonchalant, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweats. "Maybe invite Yejun and the rest?"

Johnny looks taken aback, before a slow smile spreads on his face. "Wait, for real?" he asks, pausing his Netflix show (Mark is pretty sure it's _Queer Eye_ ) and turning to Mark. "Are you sure you're comfortable with—"

Another small wave of irritation crashes and smoothes out inside of Mark's chest. He's getting tired of Johnny handling him with kid gloves, like Mark's a timid deer that's going balk at any time, so Mark says, "Dude, I wouldn't have suggested it if I wasn't, you know?" which has Johnny shutting his mouth with a snap. He at least has the decency to look sheepish.

"All right, Markie," Johnny says, smiling. "If you say you're good, I believe you. Baby's first gay bar, let's get it!"

"Haha, dude, it's not that big a deal," Mark says, glad to see that Johnny at least seems to have put last night behind them. "I'm gonna—" he jerks his head in the direction of the kitchen.

"Yeah, sure. I made you a cup of coffee if you want it," Johnny's voice carries over from the living room. "But I can drink it if you don't!"

"I'll take it, thanks," Mark replies, seeing the mug on the table with a little green silicon cover on it. It's still warm to the touch, black, the way Johnny takes it.

He constructs a breakfast bagel for himself with some of the smoked salmon and cream cheese he finds in Johnny's refrigerator. Mark brings the plate and mug of coffee back with him to take a seat next to Johnny on the couch, where Johnny's finished off his breakfast and is starting up a new episode of _Queer Eye_.

"Are you watching this for the first time?" Mark asks, taking a bite of his food.

"Nah," Johnny says. "I like putting it on when I feel kind of all over the place. It's nice to have five queer people reminding me that I'm not a hopeless case, you know?" He wrinkles his nose. "Uh, but don't watch the Japan season if you decide to check it out. Just—sometimes they're a mess."

Mark nods, though he can't see himself going back to Seoul and marathoning _Queer Eye_. He digs into his breakfast properly while the guy Mark's fairly sure is named—Antoni? Anthony? explains the mission for the episode.

They're halfway through it when Johnny clears his throat. Mark's chewing the last of his bagel when Johnny says, "So, uh, about tonight at the bar, I guess I want to brief you on some of the, er, etiquette?"

Mark takes a sip of the coffee, trying to hide his shudder as the last dregs of it are the most bitter. "Yeah, I don't wanna, like, offend anyone or anything."

Johnny bites his lower lip before running his hand through his hair—a tic, Mark's come to realize, something that Johnny does when he's anxious about something.

"Mark, I'll be real with you," Johnny says seriously. "You're built like a classic twink—sorry, a twink is when you're like, a cute, usually sk—"

Mark holds his hand up, his face burning. "Dude, I'm good, I know what a twink is." At Johnny's confused expression, he adds. "Listen, the fans have been calling me one for years now so I looked it up and had Ten explain it to me. I get it."

Johnny swallows, nods once, twice, and then says, "You are just… so full of surprises, Mark Lee." He lets out a small laugh. "People are going to want to hit on you tonight, okay? Or maybe grind on you or something, so I guess just be prepared for that? You can always tell them you're straight, and they'll back off. And if anyone gives you trouble, I'll be around anyway."

"Oh my God, you're really gonna play up the whole _The Bodyguard_ thing?" Mark laughs, amused by how pinched Johnny's face looks. "Dude, it's okay. I'll tell them off if they get too close."

Johnny seems to relax at that, his shoulders no longer up near his ears. "Okay. Okay, I—yeah. All right, I'm cool as a cucumber. Like, it'll be dark anyway. I don't think anyone's gonna recognize you there, and the gang's coming. We'll form a perimeter around you so there's no chance of anyone getting a pic," he says, but it sounds like it's mostly to himself, like he's strategizing. "It's gonna be a good night."

Mark genuinely liked hanging out with Johnny's friends, and he's looking forward to spending more time with them before he jets off. The week thus far has been some of the most fun Mark has had in a long, long time. His life of recording studios and mirrored practice rooms and endless hours in the back of a van while he tries to write on his phone in between schedules all feel like lifetimes away from him. He hasn't had to be NCT's or SuperM's Mark Lee.

Instead, he's been "dude," "man," "Markie." Just another tourist, just another addition to Johnny Suh's roster of friends. There's no pressure for him to act a certain way, or say anything, and Mark mourns the loss of this feeling already, even if there's still a little time left.

It's jarring because he feels _new_ , somehow, like he's changed in increments, which doesn't entirely make sense since he's only been here for a short time, but he figures that if some people can go to three-day silent meditation retreats and change their lives, then maybe it isn't so far-fetched.

They pass the day mostly in companionable silence, Mark pulling his notebook out and jotting down a few new lyrics he thought up over the last couple of days while Johnny's fingers fly over his laptop keys, frowning at the screen while he types. Johnny seems to approach his job the way Mark remembers him approaching training: fully focused, with unending patience, muttering to himself under his breath when he finds a kink in whatever it is he's working on.

When it comes time to get ready, Mark considers asking Johnny for advice as to what to wear. Then he tells himself he's overthinking it and grabs one of his nicer sweaters, not the athleisure he's been in for most days, and some jeans. He'll have to match everything with a hat and a mask again, at least for a while, unless he gets to the bar and can trust in the privacy there.

Johnny, when Mark walks out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth and trying to do something with his hair, is in impossibly tight black jeans, and a short-sleeve button down a size too small, biceps bulging, golden forearms bare, save for the small sunflower. He's carrying two watches, draping them over his wrist and peering down like they hold the secrets to the universe.

"I think the silver looks better with the blue in your shirt," Mark offers awkwardly. It's a nice shirt, though Johnny's brought it to another level by threatening to bust out of it. There's little giraffes in the pattern.

"You're right." He glances up, and it's clear Johnny's put on makeup, styled his hair out of his face. His eyebrows are especially striking, his skin perfectly smooth but still looking like skin, his cupid's bow pink with the smallest hint of tint. In one ear is a glinting small hoop.

Mark feels the same unfamiliarity he did that picture of Johnny at the Pride Parade—like yes, he's looking at Johnny Suh, but he's looking at a side of him he's not as familiar with. The bi side, Mark guesses.

"You look cute," Johnny says, fastening the silver watch to his wrist. He sets the other one on his kitchen counter. "You can use whatever of mine in the bathroom, by the way."

"I already used your hair gel," Mark admits.

"Well, it looks nice." He checks his phone, smiles down at it, and slides it into his pocket. "You look ready to go."

"Yeah, pretty much. Just need my shoes and my mask and shit."

Johnny mills around in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge. "You're so chill," he says, ponderingly.

"I mean. I know it's my first time, but I've been to bars before. I've been around gay people before."

Johnny makes a considering noise. "I guess so. I think it's different when you're going to hang and when you're going to, like, meet people." He shakes his head, gaze distant, like he's caught somewhere else. "The first time I went, I worked myself up so fucking much with nerves that I had to have Sehun call me to calm me down."

Mark's brow furrows. "Wait, you went to a bar in Seoul?" Mark has been driven by and walked by the known gay street in Itaewon, on his way to somewhere else, and he hears whispers of various idols sneaking out to them, or even to Jongno, but he doesn't know anyone who's admitted to going. Even Ten hasn't confirmed it.

"Nope, in Chicago, when I started college."

Mark doesn't think anything of it for a second—until he recalls Johnny was talking to Sehun about Chicago gay bars, which means he was talking to Sehun _after_ leaving the company.

Taeyong can't get more than the occasional text back, and everyone else got locked out of Johnny's life like a bad memory, but Sehun merited staying in Johnny's life?

Mark struggles to keep his hurt and irritation at bay, off his face, but he can't not say anything. He keeps it as cool as he can. "So you and Sehun still talk, huh?"

"Yeah, he's a good one." Johnny's back to glancing at his phone. "Celeste says she's on the way, and she's bringing all the stragglers with her. We can head out in a few, get a good spot?"

It's so stupid, but Mark feels like he wants to start yelling in the middle of Johnny's living room. It feels like he's having two different conversations, or he and Johnny live in two realities. How can Johnny think he can drop a bomb like that and expect Mark to brush it off? How can it not occur to him that this is a big deal? Mark isn't even that upset for himself, though of course it stings. He's upset for Taeyong. For Yuta. Apparently, Sehun ranks higher on Johnny's list of priorities than any of the Rookies.

But he's not going to make a huge deal out of it now, when they're about to go out and have a good night. What good would it do, anyway? It'll just illustrate the schism between them, the one Mark has been trying to repair.

Bitterly, Mark thinks he knows more about being a real friend than Johnny does, but he stuffs that down, squares his shoulders, and goes to the closet for his jacket. "Let's head out," he says, forcing enthusiasm.

He hopes seeing Johnny's friends, and drinking a lot of tequila, will erase all of this.

🍂🍂🍂

Tequila helps. Tequila definitely helps. Mark's picking at the spiced potatoes Celeste and Sky ordered from the Indian place next door, giggling at Celeste's side as she gestures expansively in the middle of a story. She's not wearing a beret this time, but she's still dressed super cute, like she's stepped out of another decade or one of those Netflix shows about girls finding themselves in the big city.

Celeste and Sky brought like three other people Mark's mostly forgotten the names of in a haze of liquor and nervousness. He thought he was fine on the walk over, forcing himself to concentrate on each step he took and the crisp night air instead of his mess of feelings about Johnny, but then he stepped foot inside of the place and felt his heart try to escape his ribcage.

Feeling nervous was stupid, as the bar's more of a pub than some flashy dance place. It looks like it was last updated before Mark was born, and it's early enough that they have the place mostly to themselves.

True to Johnny's word, they pile around him, making sure his back is squarely to the entrance. He pulls his mask under his chin but keeps his snapback on, though he's knocked it sideways leaning on Celeste.

"Hey, are these communal?" one of the guys who came in with Celeste and Sky asks, pointing at the potatoes and the nearby platter of samosas. He's yet another pretty person—a twink, Mark recognizes, nearly smiling at the memory of Johnny calling him that—dressed impeccably. His skin glows under the shitty bar lights.

"Sure, man," Mark says enthusiastically, shoving the basket at him. "Try the dip, it's wild."

"Thank you, honey," he says, winking at Mark and diving in.

Everyone's so nice. Mark flushes over being called honey by a man, by a man he doesn't know, no less (since Ten's probably called him that before), who heard Johnny's spiel about Mark being straight but who doesn't seem to be bothered. It's nice. Usually when Mark gets hit on, it's by fans obsessed with Mark the idol, not Mark the slightly underwhelming and awkward person.

Johnny's basically holding court, catching up with people and telling them stories about the adventures they've taken around the borough—and into Brooklyn—with asides to ask Mark to chime in too. He misses a few of his cues, though, enraptured by Celeste's imitation of her coworkers, banging the table at the punchline of her story.

Truthfully, even if the tequila has him feeling loose and floaty, he's still too aware of the conversation with Johnny about Sehun. It's easier to focus on Johnny's friends, all the new people, than to tune in to Johnny and remember the ugly feelings of inadequacy and outrage he felt earlier.

Celeste glances down at him, slumped on her shoulder, and laughs. "Mark, you are _drunk_ ," she accuses.

"Yep," he agrees. "The margaritas… are strong."

"Your hat is about to fall off," she says, and fixes it for him.

He blinks up at her wonderingly. She's so nice. " _Thank_ you, oh my God."

"This baby is cut off until he gets some more food in him," Celeste says to the table.

Johnny, Yejun, and another hot guy Mark doesn't really know yet all glance over in tandem. Johnny looks bemused, and Mark notes how close he's sitting to the new guy, half on his lap. Well, they are all squished in together.

"Do you want to split this with me, Mark?" Yejun asks. "It's good."

Mark nods eagerly and accepts Yejun's uneaten half of a palak paneer frankie. It must be that he's drunk, but the bite he takes is so good he finds himself moaning around it, and that sets the table off laughing, but whatever. They don't have the delicious thing Mark does.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," Johnny says, sending Mark a cheeky lift of his glass of beer.

Mark shoves another bite into his mouth so he doesn't have to answer, smiles awkwardly, and sends Yejun an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Johnny lean in and murmur something to the new guy, who throws his head back and laughs like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard, and then he paws at Johnny's arm too.

They look cute, Mark guesses. The guy is definitely hot, with an eyebrow ring and what Mark thinks was a flash of a tongue ring, if he's not mistaken. Maybe Johnny likes that kind of thing. Maybe it feels better.

Abruptly, Mark realizes he needs to pee. He tries to stand up, wobbles, and is supported by the cute twink's hand at the small of his back.

"Hahaha, jeez, thanks!" Mark says, trying to step over Celeste and Sky, but they end up having to get up to make way for him to exit the booth. "I just need to pee, I'll be a second."

"Don't get lost," Yejun jokes, and Mark sends him finger guns.

The bathrooms are two individual rooms with a single toilet in each, and he has to line up behind a staff member and another patron to wait for his turn for one of them to open up. He puts his mask back on and checks his phone, shifting foot to foot to distract himself from his spinning head and the urgency in his bladder.

The guy waiting with him, against the wall, gives Mark a smile when he glances up from his phone. It sends a shiver down Mark's spine. Johnny—well, warned him this sort of thing could happen, but Mark never actually pictured a stranger in this place being interested, especially right now, when Mark's ninety percent covered.

What exactly is this guy smiling at? His stupid eyebrows under the brim of his hat and barely visible above his glasses? But he tries to smile back, communicating that he's friendly. It's no big deal if a man gives Mark an appreciative look. He's a fucking grownup.

He does his business in a rush of relief when it's finally his turn, and he gives himself a once-over in the grimy mirror above the sink. The whole bathroom smells like industrial-strength bleach.

Mark squints to see some anonymous dude, clearly on the younger side, with broad shoulders but skinny almost everything else. Well, he thinks as he turns, catching his body's profile, at least the jeans make his ass look good. Ten's told him a hundred times his ass is cute.

On the way out, Mark feels somehow more sober, or at least less dizzy, and has a spring in his step as he slides into the booth. The new guy is in the middle of some story, and Mark catches the words "lube" and "cock ring," and his head is on a swivel, curious, but he catches Johnny making a quick gesture to tell him to stop.

Yejun jumps in with a new story of his own; whatever track that conversation was on, it's clear Johnny doesn't want him exposed to it. Irritation rears its head again. Mark's tired of Johnny's bullshit. The way he cares enough to spare Mark's sensitive ears from a dumb sex story but not from the news that Sehun is more important to him than everyone else at the company.

Mark tugs his mask off and goes back to his half-finished margarita. He's not thinking about this now. There's nothing to be done about it.

He wishes Haechan were here, though that's a bizarre impossibility. Or Ten, despite the baggage. They would know how to keep him away from these feelings, and Ten could match whatever story with anecdotes of his own, and Johnny couldn't shut him up. He'd take Taeyong's quiet companionship, the nerves he feels in new groups, the way he grounds Mark. Anything to remind Mark that he's a grown man with adult relationships and not a miserable teenager, left behind.

The new guy's name turns out to be Brock, which is a joke Mark conceals a laugh at as he finishes off the margarita. He has his arm draped over the back of the booth, behind Johnny's back. The way he looks at Johnny like he wants to eat him, the way Johnny's looking back—

"Yeah, Mark's the best," Johnny is saying to Brock, Mark's seething brain picking up on his name. "Shame I have to send him back to the capitalist machine soon."

A few people laugh, including Yejun and Brock. Celeste and Sky are leaning across Mark to talk to the twink on Mark's right.

Despite the warmth inside the bar, despite the press of Celeste next to him, Mark feels a chill like poison in his veins. He carefully sets down his margarita, tries to think for a second despite the blankness in his mind, the barren landscape filled with nothing but a desert of anger. Anger doesn't come to him easily, even if irritation does. Every time he feels it, it seems like something unreal. But Mark recognizes it. He's furious.

"Johnny," he says, and distantly he realizes he's coming across as a hundred percent unbothered, a fake version of normal he channels for interviews or the stage when shit is falling apart and he's got to pretend like nothing's wrong. "Can I grab you for a second?"

Johnny looks confused but game enough, and he has to make everyone get up from his end of the booth the same as Mark does. Mark's not sober enough to apologize for the inconvenience. He's already thinking of where he can take Johnny for this—the bathroom? But then they would have to wait again, probably. He figures going outside will work better than anything else, despite the chill.

Johnny follows Mark to the door and doesn't say anything when Mark takes them a good distance from the bar, around the corner. His expression, once Mark stops in a random stoop, off the sidewalk, is neutral, almost eager.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Well," Mark says, sliding his cold hands into the pockets of his tight jeans. "A couple of things, I guess."

"Are you okay?" Johnny asks, squinting at him, leaning in even closer. "You look a little flushed."

"Yeah, I'm drunk, but— Listen, it was fine when you were making all these remarks about the company just to me, but you don't—you don't get to say shit like _I'm sending him back to the capitalist machine_ in front of strangers."

Johnny's expression doesn't change, but Mark thinks his eyes might be wary. "Okay," he says slowly. "Bad form, I get it."

Mark shakes his head. "Dude, like, shit-talk them all you want, but in private. Or actually, you know what, knock it off? I've heard what you think of the company. Believe me, I know. It's not, like, helpful."

Johnny's silent for a second, and a group of people walk by, chattering, clearly having a fun night out and not arguing in a stoop like they're in a melodrama. But Mark's hot with everything he's tamped down on, and drunk enough for his tongue to be loose. "My opinions are mine, dude. I'm not asking you to agree with me."

"No, but you are, kinda." Mark's brain plays a compilation of every snitty comment Johnny's made, all the times he sighed over Mark's choices, his failure to do what Johnny wanted. "You got frustrated with me when I told you I don't have a backup plan. Like, you clearly want me to leave."

"On the real, of course I want you to leave," Johnny says. "You deserve better than the company. But I'm not trying to _make_ you—"

"I don't deserve better than my _family_. That's what I'm going back to, bro. And like, you wouldn't know what that means for me, because you _left_."

Johnny's mouth parts in surprise, but he's quick to close it again. Mark watches his body language shift to something uncomfortable. Like he's reacted to being physically slapped or something. Mark knows he scored a hit, and he almost doesn't feel bad about it. "That's what this is about, isn't it? You're still mad at me for leaving."

"On the real, _of course_ I'm mad at you for leaving," Mark says, sarcastic. It feels good to let it all bubble out, though the part of Mark who hates this sort of thing is preemptively moaning about how much he's going to regret opening his drunken mouth like this. "I'm mad you left, yeah, but I'm more mad you think we can—fix everything like it never happened. Like, fuck, dude, you really tell me Sehun's been in your life but Taeyong isn't worth it and expect me to just smile and shrug it off?"

"Whoa, hold up— Sehun— Taeyong is _not_..." Johnny steps back, like he took another blow. He shakes his head. "That's not how it went down. Of course Taeyong is worth it." He licks over his lips, frustrated, and eyes Mark. " _You're_ worth it. I swear."

"Really feels like that, dude! Sounds totally legit."

"I couldn't— Are we really doing this here?" Johnny demands. "Fuck, Mark. This is a lot."

"I'd like to have it all on the table and stop pretending things are okay. I don't wanna go back in there with all your friends and, like, laugh off how you treat me like I'm still a kid."

"You think I treat you like a kid?" Johnny says, laughing once, a bewildered, angry sound. He's matching Mark's mood, finally, riled up, and it's satisfying at the same time as it's scary. Not that he thinks Johnny would do anything—it's that Mark feels the fractures in the foundation beneath them, the ones they've been patching over with smiles and half-assed conversations and pretending don't exist. It feels like the whole thing could crumble with one word, but if it's worth saving, Mark needs to get this out. They need to do this. Be honest. "What the fuck?"

"Every five minutes it's another, _Oh my God, Mark Lee, all grown up_. It's pat—patron—it's annoying, dude. You wouldn't even let _Brock_ finish his dumb sex story. What do you think I'm gonna do, faint because someone talks about anal?"

Johnny chokes on a sound, then lets that hang between them. "I don't think of you as a kid, Mark," he says, quietly, intensely.

"Well, good, then, like, treat me like one of your friends and not like some fucking _maknae_!" His chest is heaving, quick, almost all the pent-up slights expelled. It doesn't feel like enough, though. It feels like there's something bigger under the surface, something Mark's only seen glimpses of, some creature in the murky deep. "I know you don't mean to treat me like some—like an afterthought, okay," Mark acknowledges, "but you _do_. I've been an afterthought since before you left."

"What do you want from me?" Johnny asks, face shuttered. "What can I do to fix this?"

"Just—" Mark flings a hand in his direction. "Be fucking _honest_. Own the fact that you hate SM and it bugs you that I'm staying with them when you couldn't. Own up to the fact that you care more about Sehun than you do Yong. Do what you want to do." Mark takes in a gulp of cold night air, forcing himself to slow down. "Like, man to man, you don't need to be so careful with the gay stuff. If you want to, like, gay it up with your friends, don't let me stop you! If you wanna, I dunno, take that Brock guy home, just tell me and I'll stay in a hotel—"

" _What_ ," Johnny asks in a flat tone of disbelief.

Mark snorts. "He was on your lap and making, like, goo-goo eyes at you, dude. I didn't think you needed me to tell you what that means."

Johnny stares at him, then jerks his chin in what Mark thinks is a negation. "You're fucking— Mark, this is bullshit. You have no idea what's going on."

"So _tell me_ , Johnny," Mark says, getting closer, up in Johnny's space, watching the furious puff of vapor from the cold air exit Johnny's open mouth. He wants to jab Johnny in his giant chest, but Mark would never touch someone in anger and no amount of booze is going to make him start. "Jesus, be _honest_."

"I don't want to fuck Brock," Johnny growls, and he's toe to toe with Mark now, eyes narrowed, half a head taller, but Mark's not backing away. "I don't care more about Sehun than you. God, if you knew—" He cuts himself off, mouth thinning into a harsh line.

"What?" Mark demands, a coiled spring. "What other thing don't I know, since I'm such a dumbass child?"

Johnny huffs in frustration, and he grabs Mark by the shoulders and drags him in so fast Mark almost loses his balance. Mark has a moment of panic thinking he's read Johnny wrong after all, and that he's pushed them somewhere they can't come back from. But then nothing happens.

Johnny is frozen, hands fisted in Mark's sweater, gaze darting all over Mark's face. They're so close. It feels like they've never been closer, like there's a magnet between them. Mark tilts his head up, his hand wrapping around Johnny's bicep, and Mark leans in until—

Mark feels a squish of sensation, Johnny's cold lips on his, the way their noses clash, and then Johnny pulls back in the next second, holding Mark away from him.

His expression is agonized. It matches the way Mark feels, knotted up. The thing inside of him crests, making waves, and he doesn't know who moves next, who is pushing and who is pulling, only that cold isn't the only sensation anymore. It's also the hot of Johnny's open mouth, Johnny's quick tongue, Johnny's hand knocking his hat off in the scramble of them colliding.

Johnny's body is a rigid line, a wall, and Mark throws himself against it, kissing with absolutely no skill, just his open mouth and his teeth and the sound that escapes his lips from the way Johnny pulls his hair.

It's the best kiss he's ever had, even though it hurts his face, even though he knows it's a mistake. Even though it's terrifying.

When Johnny grips his ass and pulls Mark closer, until there's no space between them, Mark moans into his mouth. It's so _hot_ , everything is hot between them—breath, tongue, skin. Johnny's hand feels like a brand despite the layers between them, huge and safe, somehow. Even like this, Johnny's got him.

Mark's prickling with arousal, with how good it is.

"Get a room," someone shouts, sounding genuinely irritated, startling him until he nearly bites Johnny's tongue.

That brings it all rushing back. Where they are, in full view of passerby. Johnny and Mark rip themselves apart, so fast Mark's reeling and stumbles into the fence on either side of the stoop.

Johnny visibly collects himself, running a hand through his hair. Mark thinks he should pick up his hat from the ground, but he's frozen.

That was— It was too much to pretend didn't happen. It was too much to write off as booze and days of tension. Maybe if Johnny had kissed him and Mark hadn't responded—but fuck, Mark _kissed Johnny_ , he thinks, and Johnny kissed back, and it was. It was among the hottest moments of Mark's life. So high up. Arguably _the_ hottest.

He wills away the panic he feels brewing somewhere, underneath all the shock and alcohol. This isn't the time. It clearly isn't the place.

The thing inside of him ducks back down, but he knows what's there now. Or he thinks he does.

"I'm sorry," Johnny says, hoarse.

"Don't," Mark bites off. "God, do not." He does finally stoop to pick up his hat, then puts it and his mask on his numb face. He needs to be as invisible as possible right now.

"Still," Johnny says, on a lengthy exhale. "We need—"

"We don't need to do anything but go inside and have—a good time with your friends. We deal with this later."

He means they'll talk about it later, along with the rest of it, all the unfinished business Mark refuses to keep ignoring.

Their foundations feel more than cracked now. They feel demolished. Not only the ones shared with Johnny, but his own. He's on sand, unsteady.

Johnny says nothing, but he nods, and they silently set off for the bar, Johnny close enough to follow but out of reach.

🍂🍂🍂

The rest of the night passes in a blur, Johnny unexpectedly quiet and Mark trying like hell to pretend like he's normal, he's fine. Celeste and Yejun give him some looks, but how could they not, when he dragged Johnny off like that and they came back clearly not… right.

It's only when he's walking home next to Johnny, totally sober and with his reserves of energy drained from putting on his show face for hours, feeling vaguely guilty that his last time hanging with such cool people ended on such an odd vibe, that he realizes he's supposed to _sleep_ next to Johnny. Mark actually laughs, a pathetic chuckle, that carries enough for Johnny to glance over at him. But neither of them say anything about it.

"I'll take the couch," Johnny says, when they arrive at the building and begin the long trek up the stairs.

Mark wants to argue, but it turns out he's not that polite, not anymore. Not now.

When Johnny lets them inside the apartment, it feels empty somehow, even though they're inside of it. Two living bodies. They move in silence, like they're afraid to startle the other. Mark catches glances of Johnny in his peripheral, slipping off his shoes, hanging up his coat. Methodically removing the couch cushions and stacking them, pulling out the bed.

"I'm… gonna shower," Mark says softly. "We should talk in the morning."

"Sure," Johnny agrees, too readily. "But listen, you were really drunk, it's not— It's not a big deal," he finishes, and Mark has trouble finding a drop of the anger he felt toward him earlier, but he does know what a cowardly move this is, and he scoffs. Johnny looks startled.

"Uhhh, you were there, dude. You know what went down."

"I do, and I'm sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was take advantage—"

"For the last damn time, Johnny," Mark says, finding it in himself to chuckle weakly, run his fingers through his bangs. "I'm twenty-three. And give me some credit. I've gotten drunk and made out with people before." That tipsy kiss Mina still makes fun of him for comes to mind, when he accidentally bit her. "That wasn't… what this is."

"Yeah," Johnny says, barely more than a breath. "I guess… Yeah. We'll talk in the morning. Sleep good, okay?"

"Okay, you too," Mark says, on instinct.

He backs away into the bathroom and closes the door behind him, slumping against it, a puppet with its strings cut.

 _What the fuck_ , he thinks to himself, eyes squeezed shut, alone with his thoughts and the stark reality of what's happening for the first time this night, _am I doing._

🍂🍂🍂

Unsurprisingly, Mark does _not_ sleep good.

He barely sleeps at all. They got home late to begin with, after the drag show ended, and with everything that went down last night, it was impossible for Mark's brain to calm itself enough to let his body have a break.

He's a mess, and he hoped that the couple of hours of silence would have helped him despite knowing full well that he's in Johnny's bed when the roles should be reversed, that he should have insisted on the couch last night.

Mark's exhausted, his heart feeling like it's been racing in a marathon rather than lying on his back all night until the sun begins to creep up through the blinds. He needs—someone. He wants to call Ten, but this is… He can't. Not Ten. Not when Mark's thinking about Johnny's lips pressed up against his own, not when Mark's drowning in the guilt of it, even if Johnny and Ten aren't anything, haven't been anything in over six years now. And Haechan knows too much, way too many truths about Mark that Mark isn't ready to face yet.

He sends a message off to Taeyong instead, who ends up calling him within thirty seconds of the two little check marks appearing beneath Mark's distress signal.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Taeyong asks. There's music in the background, but muffled, cutting in and out on the connection.

"Hi, hyung," Mark says, tired. He tries to keep his voice low. He doesn't want Johnny knowing that he's calling anyone about the shit that's happening between them. "I'm so sorry, am I disturbing you?"

"No, I'm shopping with Jaemin, but he's in the dressing room right now," Taeyong replies. "What's going on?"

Mark doesn't know where to begin. His thoughts are a tangled ball of yarn, and Mark can't find the end of it, doesn't know where to start unraveling it.

"Did you ever, like, hate Johnny for leaving?" Mark asks instead, because that's who is at the heart of the matter, isn't it? Johnny Suh and Mark Lee and SM and NCT and the way the trajectories of their lives all changed in 2016.

Taeyong's reply comes much more swiftly than Mark expects. "Yeah, for a while. I mean, didn't we all, at some point? You and I never talked about it, not when we were in the middle of debut and everything, but I did hate him a little. I lost my ninety-five bf, you know?" Taeyong laughs at the old title they were given, long ago when Rookies photos of Johnny and Taeyong were posted with the same caption. "I felt so alone when they'd announced that I'd be leader. But I get him, now. Why do you ask? Are you guys okay? It's eight in the morning there—did you just wake up?"

"Uhhhh, I haven't really slept," Mark replies. "I'm—" He's about to say he's okay, but he wouldn't be calling Taeyong if he was. "Johnny and I had a sort of argument last night. And…"

Mark can't tell Taeyong about the kiss. Not when he's still wrapping his head around it. Not when Johnny was an active participant in it, and Mark feels like it's not entirely his story to tell. Not when, on top of Mark spiralling about his contract negotiations and losing his footing on his friendship with Johnny, he's also now dealing with a sexuality crisis. So he focuses instead on the things that he can get a grasp on.

"It turns out that Johnny's been talking to Sehun-hyung all this time, and I dunno, hyung, when I heard that, I felt like it was so unfair. He just left us and didn't look back. Couldn't even be bothered to come by when you'd invited him to our concerts and everything. It's like he didn't care."

The background noise changes on the line, like Taeyong's moved somewhere quieter, before he says, "Have you considered that maybe he cared too much?"

"That doesn't make sense—"

"Hey, come on, listen to me first," Taeyong says gently, and Mark shuts his mouth. Rarely does Taeyong speak to him in a manner remotely close to this, and it's with a sliver of shame that Mark realizes he's being petulant and immature.

"Sorry, hyung. Go ahead."

"I didn't know that he was still talking to Sehun-hyung, but it doesn't surprise me," Taeyong says. "They've always been close. They did train together much earlier than Johnny trained with us. And about the concerts—I would think that it would hurt him to see that, don't you?"

"He knows our title tracks," Mark grumbles, though he knows how stupid that retort is as soon as he says it.

"That isn't the same as seeing people onstage when you spent years thinking you'd be on it with them," Taeyong says calmly. "You know all of this already. Yeah, Johnny and I aren't the friends we used to be, but people make mistakes and people change, right? I mean, you've been with him for a week. You're in the best position to make that call."

Mark's quiet for a long time. This isn't exactly the most productive call, but sometimes all Mark needs is someone to ground him while he thinks things through, and Taeyong's always been good at handling Mark in that regard.

"Mark-yah, whatever else it is that's bugging you, I'm sure you and Johnny will work it out," Taeyong says, like he knows more than he's letting on. It's unsettling, and Mark swallows down the panic because Taeyong can't know the extent of it. "I hope you can get some sleep after this. Have you packed already? You're flying out tomorrow morning, right?"

Mark thinks about the laundry he has hanging in Johnny's bathroom, the plastic bags full of gifts he's gotten for various members strewn about near his suitcase in the living room.

Thinks about how he desperately doesn't want to leave yet. Almost as much as he doesn't want to leave this bedroom and have it out with Johnny.

"I'll get to it," Mark says, effectively avoiding any more questions. "Thanks for taking my call, hyung."

"Anytime." Taeyong's voice has slipped into something sweeter. "See you soon."

"Yeah," Mark says, still staring at the ceiling. "See you."

It's too early for this, and now that he's lanced the wound talking with Taeyong, at least a little, Mark feels like maybe he can sleep. He needs his reserves to go into this thing with Johnny, to figure out a path forward.

Mark feels a yawn come in as the sun fully rises, and he doesn't fight it when he feels himself start to fade into sleep.

🍂🍂🍂

He comes to slowly, stretching as he begins to wake up. His head is killing him, a dull thud-thud-thud in his temples while he blinks sleep away.

It's then that Mark realizes how warm it is and how brightly the sun is shining through the blinds. He scrambles to find his phone and check the time.

_12:47 p.m._

_Jesus,_ he thinks to himself, rubbing his hand over his face. His glasses fell off in his sleep, and he hurriedly shoves them back on as he sits up in bed, his socked feet hitting the wooden floor while his entire brain feels like it's righting itself on a lag.

Mark has no idea what his talk with Johnny is going to be like, but he realizes that he can't put it off any further. Who knows how long Johnny's been up, waiting for them to face this?

He opens the door slowly, but Johnny isn't even in the living room when Mark steps out.

Johnny's sitting in the kitchen, hunched over his mug of what Mark assumes is coffee when he straightens his back, lifting his head to observe Mark. Johnny looks as shitty as Mark feels, his hair mussed and his face puffy. His lips look raw, like he's been chewing on them all night.

"Did you sleep at all?" Mark asks. Rich, coming from him.

"I think we both know the answer to that, Mark," Johnny says quietly. "Made you some, but it's cold now."

The mug Johnny's assigned to Mark for the week sits across him, so much like the first night Johnny had made him hot chocolate, but in such wildly different circumstances.

Mark settles at the other end of the table, the ceramic room temperature in his hands. Johnny looks small in his too-big hoodie.

"Last night was—"

"If you call it a mistake, I'm leaving." Mark narrows his eyes at Johnny, defiant. Sure of this statement, even if he's unsure of everything else.

Johnny's mouth closes. Mark can see how working his jaw tight, clenching it like he has to chew on his words and swallow them down, otherwise Mark may follow through.

"I don't know what last night was, but it wasn't—I mean. Kissing you wasn't a mistake," Mark says.

"Mark—" Johnny's voice is so much smaller than Mark's ever heard it. "You're… straight."

"Clearly not as straight as we thought," Mark says, resting his forehead on his hand, propped up on the table with his elbow. It's something he's thought about all night, turning it over and over in his mind like he could find a different interpretation if he tried hard enough. But he kept coming back to how good the kiss was. How much he wouldn't have stopped if reality hadn't come crashing back. "I was very much an active participant in what went down."

Mark closes his eyes remembering against his better judgement. Want courses through him, amidst the mess of everything else he needs to figure out.

"I—I saw you with Brock and I was _jealous,_ Johnny, I think that says something," Mark adds, and Johnny glances at him before looking away. "We could have taken it further and I… I think—I would have wanted it." Mark swallows, before he confesses: "I do want it."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Johnny hisses, both hands over his face before exhaling long and deep. "Mark, you can't just say these things."

"Why can't I?" He hates the desperation in his voice. Hates that this is so messy, that he's having to have this conversation on his last day in New York City, hates that he's a mess of want and confusion when, for the last six fucking hours, all Mark's honestly wanted to do was storm out of the room and haul Johnny back in bed and have them both figure out why exactly Mark cannot stop playing their kiss back in his head.

Mark's never considered the possibility of being anything other than straight, not seriously, but now everything is unfolding before him and he's realizing that he's in way deeper than he'd thought he was. Suddenly, Haechan's questions about Johnny's thirst traps and Yuta's suggestive questions alluding to being "safe" and "having fun" make sense to him, like he's finally being let in on a secret he hadn't been privy to before last night's revelation.

God, even Ten seemed aware of what was going on, and he only found about Johnny out once Mark was actually in New York.

"Because—because you're Mark fucking Lee, a famous idol from a massive kpop group and I'm a washed-up ex trainee and I'm a dude and you're a dude and it's—" Johnny cuts himself off. He's a lot calmer when he starts back up, but it's a brittle calm. "You have no idea how much it's been destroying me that I'm attracted to you, and I can't do anything about it because our situation is impossible. It's fucking me up that the last time I saw you, you were this scrawny kid and now you're light years away from who you used to be."

Mark _knows_ , he knows that Johnny's unloaded a lot, but he latches onto the one thing his stupid brain picks out from the rest. "You're attracted to me?"

And Johnny huffs an incredulous laugh, a pained, fond expression on his face. "Of course I'm attracted to you. Fuck." Johnny runs his fingers through his hair, making it stick out everywhere since he didn’t shower the night before. "But I also know that going any further than what we did last night is a bad idea."

"Do I get a say in any of this at all?" Mark asks, annoyed that despite already telling Johnny off for treating him like a kid, Johnny's doing exactly that, once again, calling the shots instead of letting Mark decide for himself.

"Mark, what do you want to do?" Johnny asks sharply, a hint of anger that Mark only remembers from a memory of standing outside Taeyong's door the night he announced he was going to leave SM. "Do you want me to be the gay fling you have in NYC, have me fuck you then drop you off at the airport and leave it at that when, as far as I'm aware, this time yesterday you were exclusively attracted to girls?"

"I didn't get here overnight, dude, what the fuck?" Mark replies, though that's a half-truth and Mark's sure Johnny sees through it anyway.

Whatever this thing is between them has been building for a while, the more Mark scrutinizes it. He spent the night scrolling through their months-long conversations, the photos and videos they've sent each other, and it floors Mark that it's been there this entire time: something that budded and took root inside of him. Now that he's here, now that he knows the taste of Johnny's mouth, the feel of Johnny's hands on him, it's all he can think about.

He feels _safe_ with Johnny, safe and wanted in a way that's different from how he feels when he's around the twenty-one other people in his band, how he ever felt around the girls he tried to date. Mark is drawn to it, though he doesn't know what _it_ entails yet.

"You don't know what you're asking for," Johnny says, using his customer service voice on Mark, which only serves to piss him off even further.

"You're right! I don't, but I thought that I'd at least get a chance to figure that out with you before I have to fuck off and—"

The email notification comes in as a preview on his phone, and Mark's heart jumps when he sees that it's from Mr. Kim.

This is so not the fucking time, but Mark can't continue this conversation with it hanging over his head. He skims the email quickly: it tells him in not so many words that they've hammered out their strategy for negotiating, and that whenever Mark gives them the signal, they can go to war with SM.

There are several PDFs attached to the email, but Mark can only feel the icy sting of reality. He's drowning in the mess he's made for himself. There's too much happening, and whatever relaxation he's experienced on this vacation has dissipated and been replaced with the massive, gaping hole of his future.

Johnny doesn't ask why Mark cut himself off. Instead, he says in a hollow voice, "I'm not about to be your, like, gay Sherpa or whatever. I need to do better by you than that. I'm your hyung, for fuck's sake."

Mark is shaking, the anger from last night when he stormed out of the bar and all the mounting irritation with Johnny coming back at fever pitch. He's tired of being told what he can and cannot do. He thought that at least with Johnny he would have a little more freedom, but right now it just feels like Johnny's decided to take up his place as yet another older brother figure. He's fucking sick of it. He's tired of his life being dictated by other people.

"For the last time," Mark says, deadly low, "you aren't my damn brother."

His body moves on autopilot, rising from the seat, nearly knocking it over, stalking over to the living room to grab his hoodie and his backpack where he knows he's kept his power banks and his wallet and passport. He's shoving his socked feet into his sneakers, the backs of them folding in in his haste, shutting the door behind him as Johnny calls out to him with increasing urgency.

Mark's head is throbbing from last night's alcohol and lack of sleep, but he jogs down the flights of stairs and out of the building, pointedly ignoring the buzzing in his pocket as Johnny calls his phone over and over again.

He runs through the busy sidewalk and keeps running, weaving through the people with no clear direction, only the single-minded knowledge that he needs to get away somewhere, somewhere where can get some quiet, so that the banging in his head and the overwhelming need to cry can leave him.

🍂🍂🍂

Johnny hasn't stopped calling him, and neither has Taeyong, who Mark is sure Johnny reached out to.

Mark walks to some park he doesn't know the name of, wandering until he finds a bench he can settle on, slumping over while he sees the never-ending notifications on his phone screen. He knows that Johnny's panicking, that running out was a shitty move, but Mark's still too angry, too much of a mess to deal with him at the moment. He hasn't gotten any clarity wandering the streets of Manhattan; he's certainly not getting it from Johnny.

He knows he needs to call Taeyong, whose string of messages have increasingly become frantic since he ran off. That, at least, he's capable of.

Taeyong answers on the first ring, his hurried, "Mark? Mark, where are you? Are you safe? Are you hurt?" coming out in a jumble that takes a few seconds to register.

"I'm safe, I'm okay," Mark says. "I'm not hurt. I'm sorry I made you worry."

"Johnny called me. He called me, he said you ran off and he doesn't know where you are. I've never heard him sound like that," Taeyong says. "What happened?"

"Can you just tell him that I'm fine? I really—I really don't want to talk to him right now," Mark says, clenching his jaw, digging his nails into the cloth of his joggers.

"I can tell him, but Mark, none of this is making sense." It's easily two in the morning in Seoul, and Mark can hear the strain in Taeyong's voice. "I need you to tell me what happened so we can fix this. I don't know what's going on because you're not telling me, and if you leave me out in the dark, I can't do anything to help you. I'm going to send Johnny a message to tell him that you're safe and that you don't want to talk to him right now, but you're going to talk to _me._ Stay on the line."

Taeyong almost never pulls seniority with Mark anymore, but Mark holds his phone to his ear while he hears Taeyong tap out a message and send it off. If anything, this will get Johnny to stop calling Mark.

"Are you there?" Taeyong asks.

"Yeah, hyung, I'm here," Mark says, and for all of his bravado and his insistence that he's not a kid anymore, Mark feels very, very small in this moment, ready for the dressing down of the fucking century.

"What happened with Johnny?"

Mark blurts it out before he can think to censor himself. It's Taeyong, who has been his family and his leader for years. "I kissed him." It sounds surreal to say it out loud to someone else, like the curtain has been pulled back, like it's no longer something he dreamed up. "I kissed Johnny, and I—I'm terrified of what that means, and I'm terrified of what will happen to me if I don't figure out what it means."

Taeyong exhales on the line. Mark hates that he's adding to Taeyong's stress. He wanted to figure this out on his own, not have to burden anyone with it, but it's too late now.

"And why did you storm out?"

"It's—everything just feels like it's piling up on me, like I spent this week pretending I didn't have things to worry about, but now I've got another round of contract negotiations to deal with when I get home." Mark takes a second to let that sink in, to gather the rest of his thoughts. He's babbling, and he's aware that people are out walking or jogging, pushing strollers, and he's having an intense phone conversation on his bench and probably radiating weird energy, but he can't help it. "I feel like I'm caught in the middle of wanting so badly to keep making music with the band and on my own, and having to deal with the company's demands all the time. And—and now, on top of everything, it turns out I might be gay! Or bisexual! I don't know!"

"Markeu," Taeyong says gently. "Okay. I need you to breathe with me. Can you do that?"

Mark closes his eyes, feeling the pinpricks of unshed ears there while Taeyong takes an audible inhale and then a longer exhale. Mark follows along. This is familiar, Taeyong grounding him. He can almost feel Taeyong's fingers carding through his hair, tugging the strands back into place. Mark feels like he's sixteen and about to debut again, except this is so much worse. Where he lived with anticipation then, right now, all he feels is dread.

"Can you breathe better now?"

"Yeah. Yeah."

"Okay," Taeyong says. "Let's figure this out one thing at a time."

Mark's gotten so used to the presence that Johnny has provided that now he doesn't know how to be without it, and _that_ is the part that scares him the most, the fact that so quickly, Johnny has become such a permanent fixture in his life. There's a real risk that this could end things between them full-stop, that Johnny gets locked away in Mark's memories again, and that panics him.

But beyond that fear of losing Johnny all over again, what the fuck is Mark supposed to do now that he wants _more_?

🍂🍂🍂

The calls from Johnny stop. Mark's completely wrung out by the time he hangs up with Taeyong, a solid hour and change of conversation until Taeyong starts to doze off on the line and Mark insists on him going to bed.

He's burned through a lot of the afternoon sitting on this bench, and his ass is totally numb, not to mention the skin on his face not covered by the mask. His hand is freezing without gloves too, chapped and white. He stuffs it into his pocket.

Taeyong told him to take time to himself, to do something to make him happy so he can go into things with a fresh perspective, and Mark has no idea what that's going to look like. He ends up on Google, trying out different searches. _Things to do in Manhattan. Fun things in New York._ It's mostly activities for families, the usual tourist destinations, and some museums. Mark likes museums. He went to the Guggenheim with Jaehyun, and that was fun. He doesn't get to look at art as much as he wants to. He tries to collect experiences and inspiration for song lyrics, but also because Mark's a kind of boring person and needs a little culture, he thinks.

Mark picks a nearby museum at random, realizes the time, and forgoes trying to navigate the subway system in favor of a taxi. It still takes twenty minutes to get into Midtown, and the lady he buys the ticket from for access to the Morgan Library & Museum gives him a look since he's cutting it close, but mostly Mark wants to be inside, looking at things that exist outside of his own head. He'll figure out where to go after the place closes.

Then he'll figure out Johnny, and his flight. Fuck, his flight. It's hanging over him, the fact that he's got to leave in a matter of hours.

Mark's not sure if he feels _happy_ while he stares up at the marble columns of the rotunda, the mosaics on the walls, how impossibly white the marble looks. But he feels something—awe, maybe? An awareness that there are things more permanent than his problems. He snaps a few pics to look at later, to remind himself of the feeling.

Stepping inside the library itself, with all of its wood and glowing lamps, feels like he's stepping into an ancient church or something. There's a hush in here, despite how many people are soaking up the experience along with Mark; everyone speaks in a lower tone, like their regular voices will damage the old books.

He stands in front of a tapestry so old he can't fathom it. The information on the website he pulled up says it depicts avarice. He finds it funny, because he really did consider going into a church, to pray and unload his worries. The problem is, he's not sure what to pray over. He doesn't know how to reconcile this thing he has with Johnny with his relationship with God. If it was just lust, maybe that would be easier. But it's not that simple.

As he stares at avarice, at this art that's seen thousands of people, maybe tens of thousands, maybe more, he thinks about sin, and he thinks about himself.

Kissing Johnny didn't feel like sin. It felt amazing. And Mark's come a long way from the little kid in the backseat of his parents' car, ashamed of a concept he only heard whispers about. He doesn't judge Ten for liking men, for acting on those feelings. He doesn't judge Johnny, or any of Johnny's friends. He hopes he has that grace for himself. He isn't sure yet if he does.

When Mark wanders into the West Room, the crimson study, his stomach starts growling, and a glance at his phone tells him the museum is closing soon. He takes a few rushed pics, hoping they aren't blurry, and starts trying to find a way out.

 _Well_ , he thinks as he steps back onto the sidewalk, body shocked by the drop in temperature after taking refuge somewhere warm. _That didn't make it worse_. Mark feels quieter in his own head, more centered, and he realizes this is the first time he's been on his own in Manhattan ever. He was always with staff and members, and then Johnny; now, it's just Mark, and Mark's two feet taking him to whatever destination he chooses. That's something. It gives him the focus he needs to find somewhere to eat.

Predictably, he chooses a pub. He has his passport on him, and no one gives him any trouble when they check his ID and he makes a beeline for the wooden bar. He pulls off his mask to eat a burger and fries, and to down the giant beer he ordered along with the meal.

He tries to draft a reply to Mr. Kim, he really does. He opens the PDFs but quails when he sees how aggressively Mr. Kim is outlining SM's missteps. There's no ambiguity in Mark's grueling schedules, the lack of vacations, the leaks (a few Mark has forgotten about), even the injuries. The accounting errors they've made, albeit nothing serious. The black-and-white numbers Mr. Kim calculated as to how much money Mark's projects have made. His worth, quantified.

The bottom line is a push for more money and more control, and weirdly for the option to live outside of the dorms, which Mark never even asked for, and of course rejecting the position as interim leader. It's good. It's what all Mark wants, hypothetically. And he can't argue, he can't say, _Oh, no, you can be nicer to them when you ask for what I want, it's fine, they can keep treating me like a workhorse_. Mr. Kim is doing his job, and Mark's a people pleaser who feels like he's betraying the company who took a shot on him, honed him into the idol he is. Who gave him a family.

He pictures this coming across Lee Soo-man's desk, and Mark closes the files and the email and slumps on his stool.

"Hey, can I get some, uh, shots?" Mark asks the bartender. "Tequila? Two, please?"

He doesn't mean to get drunk, just to gain enough liquid courage to figure out what he's going to do, how he's going to approach this thing with Johnny, the fact that he's got to leave and fix the shambles of his life. But then it's six, and he's still at the bar, drifting further and further away from his body. Then it's seven, and Mark is fucking drunk.

That's when Yejun messages him. Mark's scrolling through his log with Johnny again, staring at his selcas, wondering if the shirtless ones were deliberate, or he might not have noticed.

**[Yejun Kim 7:25 p.m.]  
** _> Hey Mark. This is Yejun, just in case you didn't get to save my number the other night  
_ _> I'm not trying to pry or anything. Johnny texted us asking if we'd heard from you, so I'm texting to make sure you're okay_  
_> Please don't be pissed at Johnny for me texting you. He didn't make me do it  
_ _> Anyway, let me know if you need anything, alright? I hope you're safe_

Mark is caught between feeling touched that Yejun cares enough to reach out and pissed at Johnny for involving his friends, but he does his best to text back. It's hard to do when everything's blurry and his hands don't work well. What he does know is that he's drinking water, trying to be responsible at long last, when Yejun shows up out of nowhere and gently touches his shoulder.

"You wanna get comfy in a booth?" he asks.

Despite the fact Mark sees two of him, he's. He's so hot. Mark can admit this as more than an objective thing. He's hot, and he and Mark have kissed the same person. Which is wild.

He thinks he says that aloud, maybe. Or at least he realizes he's talking and closes his mouth.

"Oh boy," Yejun says, helping Mark slide into a booth and then settling his leather jacket around Mark's shoulders. It smells like his cologne, and Mark snuggles into it, breathing deeply. "You're having a day, aren't you?"

"I'm having a whole thing," Mark agrees, and his body is grateful for being able to relax, not worrying about losing his balance and falling off the bar stool.

"Have you eaten?" Yejun asks.

"I had a burger," Mark says.

Yejun slides in next to him, having procured more water, this one with a straw that he angles at Mark's mouth. Mark giggles and drinks it while Yejun holds it steady. It feels like Taeyong, taking care of him, fussing over him. Maybe even the dumb shit they do for the cameras sometimes.

"Slow down, buddy," Yejun says, and gently pulls the water away. "Oh man, you are wasted."

"Yep," Mark says, popping the P. "Yejun, I'm—I'm supposed to go home, right? I've got to fly away."

"Right," Yejun says, and then something else that Mark spaces out on. Whoops.

"I don't wanna go home," Mark says, and a wave of sadness and fear chases his words, crashing over his head, threatening to keep him under. "Fuck. Fuck. Everything sucks."

"Things always feel worse when you're drunk," Yejun says, patting Mark's back. "I promise we can find a solution."

"I don't—I don't think there's a... I can't go back to Korea and be _gay_ ," Mark chokes.

Yejun's hand pauses on his back, but Mark shimmies demandingly, though it makes his head spin, and the soothing touches resume. Mark doesn't touch strangers, really, but Yejun isn't a stranger, not really, not anymore. He's nice, and he shared his food with Mark last night.

"I don't think you're sober enough for this conversation," Yejun sighs. "Can I take you somewhere? You want to go to my place?"

"No, I gotta—I gotta. Johnny. My stuff." Mark worries that Yejun will take him to Yejun's place and Mark will pass out and miss his flight and ruin his life worse. "Flight," he says, desperately.

"We'll go to Johnny's," Yejun says placatingly. He nudges the water at Mark again. "Drink a little more. I'll call us a cab."

Dutifully, Mark slurps the water through the straw until it makes an ugly noise upon hitting an air pocket between all the ice. Some amount of time passes, and before Mark knows it, Yejun is half-carrying him out of the bar and onto the sidewalk.

It takes a couple of tries for Mark to climb into the backseat of the cab. Walking is hard. At one point, he gets dizzy and nearly falls over, and Yejun's strong arms are the only things keeping him from ending up on the pavement. Mark babbles some incoherent thanks at him and tries not to puke during his next attempt at crawling into the cab.

He makes it somehow, and Yejun arranges all his limbs and buckles him in. Mark, exhausted, leans up against him as Yejun gives the taxi driver Johnny's address.

"This cab smells," Mark mumbles on Yejun's shoulder.

"All of them do."

"You smell nice."

"Thank you, Mark."

He smiles dopily in response to that, to the laughing tone in Yejun's voice. He knows he's annoying, but he doesn't care. He knows they're headed to the end of his story with Johnny, to the end of pretending to be a normal person, who can go out in public and kiss a man, but right now, bundled up in Yejun's jacket with Yejun's body supporting his, it's not that bad. He's bigger than Johnny, muscle-wise. He has more tattoos than Johnny too, he thinks, catching a flash of Yejun's full sleeve in the low light of the passing street lamps.

"Hey," Mark says, trying to sit up, but Yejun ushers him back down onto his firm chest. Okay, then. "Is Johnny—is he good in bed? You don't have to answer that, haha."

Yejun sighs again and pats Mark's head. Mark's already forgotten his question, so he nuzzles into his embrace and closes his eyes.

🍂🍂🍂

The second Johnny's door swings open and Mark sees him, disheveled and wide-eyed, Mark starts crying. Even drunk, it's among the most embarrassing moments of his life. He tries to cover his face, but he can't afford to give up his death grip on Yejun or he'll fall over.

"I think you've got it from here, John," Yejun says from somewhere that feels far away.

"Yeah, you're a lifesaver—Mark, come here, oh my fucking God."

The next thing knows, Mark's burying his snotty face in Johnny's neck, and it's so much better than Yejun's grip on him, than Yejun's smell. It feels like home. Mark takes a ragged, hitching breath, so afraid, so aware of what this means and what he wants when nothing in his life will let him have it. _Johnny_ won't let him have it.

"You scared me so fucking bad, baby," he hears Johnny saying, feels his arms squeeze around Mark's back, dragging him to the couch. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Mark sniffles and tries to apologize too, but all that comes out are broken sounds. He feels Johnny half-drop him onto the couch and sit next to him. His shoes are still on. He thinks he might still be wearing Yejun's jacket over his hoodie. None of it matters, though; Johnny's got him, and Johnny's sorry, and Mark's sorry.

"I'm sorry," he slurs. "I don't wanna. I don't wanna go."

They twist into one shape on the couch together, Mark on Johnny's chest, Johnny's hands in his hair, making him shiver all the way to his toes. Johnny tries to talk to him, but Mark is floating, his tears trailing off, as he soaks up the comfort, and he feels Johnny laugh weakly.

"You're so gone, you won't even remember this, huh?"

Mark hums, eyes fluttering closed.

"God, what am I gonna do with you?" he hears, slipping in and out of the moment, of reality. "Everything's so fucked."

He sleeps like that, or maybe he passes out, Johnny's words washing over him, Johnny's body warm and solid under his.

🍂🍂🍂

When Mark wakes up, he knows within seconds he's going to be violently ill, and he knows he's missing his flight, or maybe it's already left without him. His phone is buzzing in his pocket, and beneath him, Johnny is quietly speaking, tone strained.

Mark's whole body hurts. His heart throbs too.

"Mrs. Lee, I swear, he's safe. He's sleeping. As soon as he's up, I'll have him call you—no, yeah, sure, he'll call the company first, get ahead of the story as much as he can."

That wakes Mark up the rest of the way. Adrenaline—the _story_ , and Johnny's on the phone with his mom, fuck, _his flight_ —lances him and gives him the energy to sit up. He thinks he's still a little drunk, but mostly sick.

"What story?" he demands. "What—Johnny?" he asks through a raw throat.

Johnny looks like he's forgotten he's in the middle of a conversation with Mark's eomma. He meets Mark's terrified eyes with his own, mouth twisted with concern. "They got… Someone got pics of you falling down drunk, trying to crawl into a cab. It's all over Twitter. Mark," he says gently, "they know you're in New York."

It's like he can see the house of cards that is his life collapsing, a neat magic trick. Mark puts a hand to his mouth and climbs off the couch on legs that barely manage to support him. "I need to—bathroom," he says, muffled. "Tell my mom," and then he staggers out of the room.

 _Please_ , _please_ , Mark prays, his knees hitting the bathroom's tile floor so hard he groans in pain. _Please, help me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mon and I both love Queer Eye, it can be a really sweet and affirming show, but it's not without its [share](https://thespinoff.co.nz/tv/19-07-2019/my-problem-with-queer-eye/) [of](https://medium.com/@stevenwakabayashi/my-culture-is-not-your-toy-a-gay-japanese-mans-perspective-on-queer-eye-japan-7bb8420660c5) [problems](https://qz.com/1671776/the-problem-with-queer-eyes-episode-about-disability/). Consider us reccing it, but with caveats.
> 
> Yes, we absolutely did write like 70k+ before they even kissed. Yes, we're also writhing in agony.
> 
> Follow us on Twitter: 🐍 is [@sneakethsnek](https://twitter.com/sneakethsnek) and 🐱 is [@johnnyseo_paws](https://twitter.com/johnnyseo_paws).


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warning:** There's no direct depiction in this chapter, but there are references to nausea and resultant illness.
> 
> 🐱: WE ARE HERE. AND BY HERE I MEAN WE'RE AT THE CHAPTER THAT MAKES THE EXPLICIT RATING MAKE SENSE. A few notes on my end for this chapter: I make Mark step into a Catholic church, though as far as I know, he isn't Roman Catholic. He has a general prayer in this chapter, very similar to how I personally pray as well. Not quite sure if this requires a CW or anything, but just letting you know that that's in there. 
> 
> Lastly, I want to thank sneaky once again for the hard carry she did in this chapter. I was dealing with a lot IRL while we were trying to knock this chapter out, and she was an absolute gem writing the majority of the scenes here that are my favorites. 
> 
> We're nearing the end of the road here, folks, clocking in a word count that neither sneaky nor I could have predicted. I'm sad to see it come to a close but also excited to get to our happy ending. ❤️ To everyone who has joined us for this ride, thank you for being here.
> 
> 🐍: Would you believe that the original outline of this chapter had it running even _longer_? <3
> 
> We hope you enjoy this chapter! (I'm in the US, so this is going up to distract me from the election limbo I'm currently in, haha. Hopefully it works to distract some of y'all as well!)

The pictures would almost be funny if they weren't so awful. Mark's wrecked in them, totally off any leash of control over what his face is doing, with that drunk glaze that makes him look dead behind the eyes. In one of them, Mark's knees have crumpled and he's pitching toward the sidewalk, Yejun—visibly alarmed—yanking him back. In another, his face is screwed up like he's about to start crying.

There's a video too. Its eight grainy seconds of Mark wriggling into the backseat of a cab on his hands and knees, ass in the air, Yejun trying to help him, are somehow less damning. You can't see his face, how gone he looks.

Someone on Twitter set the footage looping to a line from _Anaconda_ , so that's nice.

But what he keeps coming back to is the dead-eyed look in the photos. He barely recognizes himself. It's not like Mark hasn't been drunk before, but this was blackout levels. He literally blacked out. He doesn't remember any of this—not almost wiping out trying to climb into a cab, not crawling inside. He doesn't have any clear memory of the bar after ordering his burger. All he has are vague impressions of Yejun, of Yejun holding him up, a flash of the stairs in Johnny's apartment and how Yejun carried him on his back up _two flights_.

Mark does vividly remember waking up to Johnny telling him it's everywhere, though.

He's stopped shaking with nerves and a bone-deep cold, but his stomach is still sloshing with the water and tea Johnny's been gently forcing on him. He's kept the painkillers down, at least, but looking at the sea of Tweets, hashtags, and the theories about how Mark's going off the rails threatens to bring them up again. Mark burrows deeper in the blanket Johnny draped over his shoulders and keeps scrolling compulsively.

When he pulled himself off of Johnny's bathroom floor and called his mom, her, "Sweetheart, what happened?" left him silent for a long stretch, until she murmured a cautious "Minhyung?" to make sure the line hadn't dropped.

"I don't know," Mark told her. "I don't remember most of it. I think I had—I had a fight with Johnny, I guess." Then he felt like he said too much, though thankfully Johnny was in his bedroom giving him privacy. He couldn't exactly tell his mom _I'm having a sexuality crisis and me and Johnny kissed and he rejected me and my entire life is spiraling out of fucking control, so I ran away like a ten-year-old._ "Uh, about all the old stuff, you know. I thought I was over it, but he told me he kept talking to Sehun after he left, and next thing I know…" Mark swallowed heavily. "I'm waking up to #MarkLeeRehab or whatever."

She made a noise of concern, and the sympathy hurt as much as the disappointment. Mark hates letting his mom down more than anyone in the world. Even his dad. Even his members. Even the company. "I'm glad you're safe, that's the most important thing. But I had no idea this was going on with Johnny."

"Yeah, well," Mark said awkwardly, trailing off into silence until she changed the subject.

His call with Mr. Kim went differently, to put it mildly. He felt like crying when his lawyer answered on the first ring with a loud, "I have one question: were you trying to sabotage the negotiations?"

His worst fears were fucking realized. That he messed up so bad it could turn the company against him, that he would hurt their chances at negotiating Mark's contract. But then, to his shock, Mr. Kim laughed and said in a gentler but clearly amused voice, "Mark-ssi, relax. I was having a little fun. We'll handle it. It's just a drunken moment abroad. But I'll tell you, next time, wear a mask and make my job easier, hey?" And then he went on to remind Mark to get back to him on the proposed stipulations, as if they hadn't helped set off this whole episode in the first place.

He doesn't want to think about what damage he's done to the chances of getting what he wants from the company now. Despite Mr. Kim's breezy assertion that it's not a big deal, Mark's having a hard time believing SM will write this off as the folly of youth. They're gonna be pissed.

He's glad they're only supposed to contact him through Mr. Kim, or Mark's pretty sure he'd be fielding some brutal emails and text messages from the people he's spent half of his life trying to impress. At this least way he doesn't have to know what all they say about him and his irresponsibility, even if his brain is fantastic at making it up and playing it on a loop anyway, something that probably goes like: _We expect better from our idols. Especially you, Mark-ssi. This has put the company in a very worrisome situation._

After he hung up with Mr. Kim, Johnny passed him a refill on his mug of tea, standing a few inches too far away to make the exchange anything but awkward, and smiled lopsidedly. "Hey, look at the bright side. At least they got rid of the fines for inappropriate behavior."

Mark laughed weakly and went back to his phone, irked yet grateful that Johnny was giving him space. Like, he ran out on the guy in the middle of an argument and came back wasted and apparently slept on him, so that's cool and not awful. Johnny's now forced to put up with Mark's giant PR crisis, not to mention all their unfinished business. Mark has humiliated himself in so many ways.

So here he is, paying for his choices by watching the demise of his reputation in real time. Each hashtag is another blow, each meme another wound to pride Mark wasn't even aware he had before today. Ten's joked around and called him SM's Golden Boy, and sure, Mark has a kind of cheesy image, but it's only hitting him now that he's taken a hammer to said image that it was worth something. That it mattered to him that people found him nice and awkward and inoffensive, and not like a sloppy blackout drunk.

He hits a Twitter thread of people speculating who Yejun is—Mark's bodyguard, a US manager, maybe even a cousin since he lived in New York all those years ago, _definitely_ not Johnny Suh as a gossip website first reported and then hurriedly took down—and feels the tea churn around in his gut.

So yeah, some people have done the math on Mark being in New York for Johnny, and _that's_ a whole mess he can't bring himself to look at. It's hitting too close to home.

"I'm gonna cook something. How's your stomach?" Johnny asks.

"It's okay," Mark lies. He knows he needs to eat. He needs to do a lot of things, but eating will help him tackle the rest without the possibility of, like, fainting.

That's when he gets a video call notification from Yuta, and Mark nearly drops the phone in surprise. He hasn't been able to look at any group chats. Somehow, it's easier to see strangers cracking jokes or fans melting down about his mental state than it is to see the members' very real concern.

"Hey," Mark says upon picking up.

He's doubly surprised to see Doyoung sitting beside Yuta, who is smiling kindly at Mark, though his brow pinches when he sees how Mark looks, burritoed in Johnny's blanket.

"Mark-yah, are you okay?" Doyoung demands.

"I'm okay. As okay as I can be, haha," Mark says weakly. "How are you guys? Are you taking a lot of heat from the company for me? I'm so sorry, you have no idea. Oh my God."

Doyoung and Yuta exchange a look before Yuta turns back to the camera. "Sure, it's a little tense, but we've weathered this stuff before," Yuta says seriously, peering into the camera. "It's 2022. People are aware idols drink."

"And you were getting into a cab, not getting behind the wheel," Doyoung says firmly.

"I get that," Mark agrees, "but it's already trending and the international fans are... I know it looks bad for everyone, not just me. I don't want to drag the band down with my stupid mistakes."

"I really think you need to calm down," Yuta says, his expression tight with concern and seriousness, almost a frown as he studies Mark across the distance. But then he shifts into a version of the smile he gives Mark to cheer him up on long days. "Listen to Oppa! None of us care. The fans will get over it. They're curious about you, who you were with, but they can live without answers." He pauses. "I have to tell you, some of them have guessed that you're with Johnny."

"Ah, yeah, I saw that too. But, um, the company…" Mark says, chewing his lip rather than dwelling on the mess he's created for Johnny. "Do you think I'm gonna need to put out an apology?" He flashes back to Jaehyun's handwritten apology in 2020, about how well _that_ didn't go over, but he guesses SM might want to do something more involved. A whole apology tour to rehabilitate his tarnished image.

"For this? No way," Yuta replies.

"You're twenty-four, you're on vacation, and you got drunk," Doyoung says, taking the phone from Yuta and angling it better so Mark sees him full on. "It's not the end of the world. Though the managers are wondering when you're coming home."

Mark wonders too, then feels a new round of shivery sickness when he thinks about his options.

Time. Mark desperately wants time. It's the one thing he doesn't have. He has a buffer between him and the company's displeasure in the form of Mr. Kim; he has at least some of the members' support and his mother's concerned understanding; but what he doesn't have is the luxury of figuring out how to tape the pieces of his life together. He doesn't know if getting on the next flight out will help or make things worse.

Mark suspects if he catches the next flight into Seoul, he can say goodbye to figuring things out with Johnny, and that feels worse than almost everything else. Even watching his relative goodwill with fans and the public, and possibly the company, go down the toilet.

Fuck.

"SM's going to cut me if I stay here longer than a day," Mark mumbles, more to himself than to the guys he's on the phone with.

"I think SM's going to have to deal with it," Doyoung says seriously. Unlike his doubts upon hearing Mr. Kim say more or less the same thing, Mark feels a little bolstered by this. One thing Mark knows for sure is that Doyoung never couches his opinion; he's honest even when Mark doesn't want him to be. Doyoung smiles, bright and kind of deadly. "For as long as your contract remains unsigned, they're going to want to be much, much nicer to you about things. They're not going to risk letting you go if they can help it. Imagine the scandal if you decided to leave for YG or something."

Mark can't open his mouth to say that's never happening because Yuta's already jumped in. "So what Doyoung is saying is, if you need to, ah, figure things out"—Yuta's eyes cut to the side for a moment—"then I say stay put and let your lawyer worry about it. Wait for it to die down."

Doyoung adds, "It's not like we have any big schedules at the moment."

Johnny pats Mark's shoulder as he deposits a plate of steaming-hot food in front of him. It's a full breakfast, greasy and carby with two tiny bowls of kimchi and watermelon to cut the heaviness, and Mark feels gratitude and guilt in equal measure. Johnny's taking care of him, not leaving him to fend for himself when he made this mess and came back to Johnny, too drunk to stand on his own. Too much of a baby to stay and talk through his own problems.

"Okay, hyung, thanks—really, thank you for talking this out with me," Mark says.

"It's not as big a deal as you think it is," Yuta says.

"I'm already choosing which cover to drop on Instagram as a distraction," Doyoung chimes in. "Don't worry. We've got this under control. Go back to your vacation."

"Head's up, Haechan is going to call you. He's filming, or we would have let him go first," Yuta says.

"Oh, Jesus," Mark moans, preemptively thinking about how much that conversation is going to sting. He wonders if the rest of 127 and Dream are going to take turns calling him. It's exhausting, and it's only been two of them so far.

"Bye, Mark, bye, Johnny," Doyoung says from over Yuta's shoulder.

Mark hastily turns the screen to face Johnny, who's bending to sit in the chair to the left of the couch, and he looks shocked for a moment before waving to the camera. "Bye, Yuta. Bye, Doyoung."

Yuta says in a raised, fake-angry voice, "Yah! Johnny! I told you to take care of him! Don't think that just 'cause your muscles are bigger, I can't take you on!"

"I'm sorry, I'll do better," Johnny says, but he's not looking at the screen.

Mark locks eyes with him, feels the flush rise to his cheeks, and he says a hasty goodbye before anyone notices the tension. The silence in the room after is loaded, and Mark quickly unfurls from his blanket and drops it onto the couch, scooting closer to the coffee table Johnny set his meal on.

"Dig in," Johnny says softly, arranging his own plate on his lap. "You need to eat."

Mark picks his utensils up after setting his phone on Do Not Disturb so his notifications aren't buzzing with endless new messages. "It's gonna be a long day of me being on the phone some more." He tries to calm himself enough to cut up a bite of food since his stomach's still rebelling against him. Tries to make conversation through the tension and awkwardness enveloping the whole apartment.

"I work in PR, remember?" Johnny says lightly. "That's how it's gonna be today, into tomorrow, until something more interesting hits. It's all right. We're well-stocked, and I've got alcohol here if you wanna forget more later."

Mark nausea rears its head at the thought, and Mark says, "Please never mention alcohol to me again ever."

When Johnny laughs, Mark can almost fool himself into thinking things are normal.

🍂🍂🍂

He's only finished doing the dishes when his mom calls him again, this time with his dad in tow.

"Hi, honey," she says. "We're just calling to check in. Do we know what's next?"

"Hi," he says, resting his ass on the windowsill, the cool breeze filtering into the kitchen making Mark shiver. "Well, there's more stupid articles, and I'm still trending. But, uh, I talked to Mr. Kim, and he says it's… not a huge deal. He doesn't think I need to do anything but wait it out, and the negotiations won't be too messed up. The members seem to think so too."

"Oh, I'm glad you talked with Mr. Kim about it," she says, although her general attitude toward Mark's new counsel has been dubious bewilderment, and his lack of concern over this scandal probably isn't helping. Still, Mark thinks he trusts Mr. Kim's advice and experience. Mostly.

Mark picks at a hangnail as he says, "Yeah, he's got it covered. And Doyoung-hyung said he would post on Instagram to sort of bolster the damage control."

Mark's dad hums on the line. "And what about your flight back home?"

Mark chews on his lip, still unable to give a solid timeframe for anyone, not even his parents. Yuta and Doyoung pretty much gave him permission to stay in New York while this whole mess crests and plateaus, but he hasn't talked to Johnny about it. They ate in mostly silence with Johnny reassuring Mark every once in a while that things are gonna improve in the next few days and trying to cheer him up with PR disasters he oversaw cleaning up, usually clients saying whack shit on Twitter. Then, while Mark offered to clean up, Johnny disappeared into the bathroom to shower.

"I'm not sure yet. Soon, probably?" He sounds uncertain to his own ears and tries for convincing as he says, "I think coming back immediately and getting spotted at the airport would just, like, make the whole thing get a second wind?"

His mother sighs. "You've been your own person for most of your life already, Minhyung-ah. You know I'm always going to trust the decisions you make. If you want to stay longer, and you think you can swing it, then I don't see why you shouldn't. I just want to make sure you're okay. You've never been one to hold your alcohol. We both know that."

There's a teasing edge to her voice, and he hears his dad's muffled laughter. Mark is grateful for the moment of levity she offers him. He's the only one in the family who's bad at holding his drink.

"Other parents would be on their kids' cases over something like this, but you're here teasing me about getting drunk," Mark laughs, slumping over himself, covering his stinging eyes with his hand. "I can't believe you."

"When you're the mom of a superstar, you have to learn how to adjust to the times," she says gently. "Oh, I didn't get to ask, who were you with in the photo? I know I have terrible eyes, but that didn't look like Johnny."

"That was Yejun, Johnny's e—friend, his friend," Mark says, wondering with horror if he's brought heat to Yejun's doorstep too, if someone can sleuth out who he is.

"I'm glad he helped you get home safe," his dad says eventually, after a pause that tells Mark they both picked up more from his slip than he would like. "Well, I wanted to know if you were all right. Let us know what you decide and when you're flying back."

"I will," Mark promises.

"Take care, honey. I love you," his mom says.

"Love you too," Mark says, distracted as he ends the call since Johnny's stepped out of the bathroom, hair wavy as he towels it off.

He's in a soft grey shirt that looks two sizes too large for him and shorts. For the first time, Mark sees what Johnny's legs look like in person—lean, corded muscle, golden skin, a faint dusting of sparse hair. Mark's traitorous body flushes at the intimacy of seeing his _shins_ , like he's some Victorian.

"Bathroom's yours," Johnny says, and Mark nods, following him into the living room so he can get his change of clothes.

In the bathroom, the mirrors still fogged over, Mark strips and steps into the tub, turning the nozzles so that the water is near-scalding, relief on his scalp and on his back where he feels like all his tension has decided to bundle up again. He's trying, he really is, to relax about the leaked photos. Everyone else around him seems to be going with that route, so Mark genuinely hopes he can take comfort in that.

As the water beats down on him, and the immediate panic leaves his neck, his jaw, his back, Mark is reminded that the other pressing matter still remains: his burgeoning attraction to the man this apartment belongs to and what the hell he's supposed to do about it now that they're both aware it exists.

He reaches out for Johnny's shampoo, his body soap, his conditioner, all of the scents he's developed a sort of Pavlovian response to, and surrounds himself with them. Mark washes away the stress sweat and the salt tracks of his tears he accumulated overnight. 

He wipes the foggy mirror to see his entire face is puffy—he vaguely remembers crying, though he's not sure why or when—and it's probably the least attractive he's ever felt, but that's the least of his worries.

He dries off and changes into his own pair of shorts and a navy-blue ANTWERP shirt, his hair sticking up every which way while he walks back out into the living room with his towel in hand. He doesn't expect Johnny to be sitting on the couch next to Mark's luggage, but Johnny scoots over to give him more space.

Mark takes a seat next to him, deliberately close, close the way they were on the bus to Chelsea Market, close the way they were before—before the kiss. If Johnny doesn't inch away from him, maybe this is progress.

Johnny stays where he is, though Mark could cut the unease between them with a knife and put it on toast.

Better to get the Bandaid off at once instead of letting this drag out more than it has. Mark swallows hard and says, "I'm sorry," pulling at the hem of his shorts, folding the material between his fingers. "Yo, I'm _so_ sorry—"

"What the hell are you apologizing for?" Johnny demands, and Mark looks up to gape at him.

"Uhhh." Mark tries to figure out if Johnny's joking or playing dumb for some reason, "I dunno, how about for running away during a conversation and getting stupid drunk and making your ex drag me back here? For putting you in the middle of my problems? Like, I missed my flight, dude. I can find a hotel—"

Johnny makes a sound at that, rubbing over his chin and jaw, shaking his head. "You're not going to a damn hotel. Holy shit, Mark. You think I care about any of that except that you're safe?"

"I don't know what you care about right now, honestly. Things are kind of weird." Mark doesn't bother expressing the distance between them all day, since it's so obvious, and it's tricky to describe the way Johnny's been giving him his PR face, trying to pretend everything's gonna be fine. While he appreciates the perspective, it's just another example of how they're ignoring the elephant in the room—the one where Mark kissed Johnny and wants to do it again, not the crisis of his career.

Johnny slumps against the couch, mouth set in misery or exhaustion. "Yeah. If anyone's giving out apologies, it should be me. I haven't—handled this well."

"Makes two of us," Mark says, a weak joke, but it gets Johnny to huff softly.

"So we're both sorry. That's great. What do we even do with that?"

"I've got a couple days, and I don't think I'm going to be able to leave this apartment for a bit, so I guess we can, uh, figure it out."

He tries, he really tries, to not sound suggestive, or too hopeful, but it still colors his tone anyway. The idea that he and Johnny could lock the door to the outside world and let the dust settle around Mark's scandal in privacy is heady. What they could get up to with that privacy… Well, that's even more so.

Unfortunately, Johnny sees right through him. He tilts his head and gives Mark a pained but fond look. "I'm not trying to, like, reject you out of hand, but I don't think us _figuring it out_ right now is the best idea. Sorry."

"You don't want to reject me, so you're rejecting me. Got it."

Frustrated, Mark starts to slide himself toward the couch arm, giving himself more space, giving up on his pathetic attempt to resume closeness with Johnny, but Johnny's hand on his forearm stops him.

"What if those pics were of us kissing? Do you think I'd ever be able to forgive myself for doing that to you?" His hand slides off Mark's arm and lands on the couch between them, limp, fingers half-furled.

"It's a good fucking thing that wasn't the leak, then. Jesus, we don't need to, like, play around with what-ifs. You didn't do anything wrong, or I guess you didn't do anything wrong by yourself. We were mad dumb for kissing outside, but we both did it. Or did you forget my tongue in your mouth?"

"No," Johnny says, testy, "I didn't forget that." His jaw works, and then he sighs. "Listen, can we put a pin in this conversation? So you can think some more and we can see how things are going?"

"I don't really think putting this off is going to change my mind about wanting to—make out with you, but sure, I guess," Mark says, proud of himself for not tripping over it too hard.

"God, you're incorrigible," Johnny says, somewhere between fond and exasperated. Then he gets a serious look on his face, brow furrowed as he thinks. "Okay, uh, so, you're staying here, we're waiting to hear more from your lawyer and the company, just—monitoring the situation. Laying low. And we're gonna. Talk about it. The whole… thing."

It's at least gratifying to see Johnny's shaken up by the idea too, that maybe he's struggling with his chest going tight whenever he thinks of kissing Mark. "And stop being so distant and weird," Mark adds. "We're at least still friends, right?"

"Right," Johnny says. "I'm not going to stop being your friend unless you make me, dude. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

It's like Johnny said a magic word; Mark's body feels light with relief. He's not sure if he one-hundred believes it will work out that way, but he believes Johnny at least means it. "Okay, good," he says, throat tight, the words coming out sounding clogged.

"Oh, man." Johnny surges forward to pull Mark in, his arm over Mark's shoulder. Mark is surprised by the dry, gentle press of Johnny's lips to his forehead, and it makes the knot of feelings he has for Johnny go berserk, but mostly it's comforting. "I've really fucked this up if you think I'm not crazy about you, whatever that looks like."

"Me too," Mark says, barely a whisper.

Johnny squeezes him. "Good. That's… good."

They sit like that for a second, and Mark's eyelids grow heavy with the warmth, with the smell of Johnny everywhere. Johnny pulls back to look at Mark's face and chuckles.

"I think you need a nap," he says. "Go crash in the bedroom for a while. I need to figure out dinner and answer some emails anyway."

Mark doesn't argue. His body is flagging, his mind is exhausted and overwhelmed, and at least he got reassurance that Johnny isn't going to leave him hanging. He grabs his phone and slinks off to Johnny's room, to Johnny's cloud of a bed, and slides between the cool sheets.

🍂🍂🍂

As promised, Haechan is the next person to call him. Mark's freshly woken from a blurry dream—vague flashes of a kiss, Johnny's low voice, Mark's hands on a mattress that looks suspiciously like the one he's been sleeping on as he kneels—and to say he's discombobulated when he answers the call is putting it mildly.

"Hyuck?" he croaks, shifting to turn on Johnny's nightstand lamp. He's still grainy in the overall dim, but at least he can confirm he's awake and indeed talking to Haechan.

Haechan sets Mark on his desk and starts what Mark knows is his skincare routine, waiting for Mark to wake the rest of the way up. He squints at his image in the phone and leans in to wipe a pad under his eye, giving Mark an unnerving view of his eyeball. "I see you've upgraded to sleeping in his bed," he says with almost no intonation. "Nice."

Mark's too tired and the remark cuts a little too close to home, so he ignores it and adjusts his pillow. "You getting ready to film today?"

Checking the time in New York, nearly evening now, and running a quick calculation in his tired brain tells him it's early morning in Seoul. Haechan must have another early call time for his drama. He moans about it, about losing his beauty sleep and his ability to game late into the night, fueled by mischief and Red Bull, but Mark knows he secretly loves it. He's thriving under the pressure.

Where Jaehyun looks exhausted at the end of a long day, and exhausts himself even more running lines in his room to make sure he's memorized them perfectly, Haechan gets home from a long day of filming glowing like the sun he's named for. Once, Mark was over for dinner with Taeyong and caught him moonwalking in the kitchen, admiring himself in every reflective surface.

"Everyone on set was talking about it," Haechan says, pushing back his headband to dab the pad at this hairline. "But the good news is they all thought it was funny as fuck."

"Donghyuck-ah, I told you to go into the living room if you were going to call Mark early," Mark hears Doyoung's sleepy but peeved voice say, a good distance from the phone so it fades in and out.

" _You_ go into the living room, hyung," Haechan insists, swiveling his chair. "Today's your day off. I need to get ready and talk my best friend down from the ledge."

It's lame, but Haechan calling Mark his best friend puts a curl of warmth in Mark's chest. He finds his glasses, wiggles down under the covers, and flips onto his side. Haechan and Doyoung snipe for a bit, and in the background of the call, Mark sees Doyoung slink off with his pillow, probably headed to the couch or to Taeyong's room.

"We're alone," Haechan says, shaking his bottle of toner. "If you're going to cry, now's the time."

"God, you're so annoying," Mark says, smiling. "I'm not crying." He rubs at his eyes under his glasses. "I think I did that enough when I was blackout drunk, but I don't remember for sure."

"You're so dumb," Haechan says, but he's smiling as he dabs himself with toner. "Ah, who hasn't gotten drunk and fallen over in the middle of the street? It's nothing to cry over."

"Some of these headlines are rough," Mark says, instead of cracking the surface of how much is going on in his life that overwhelms him. The band. The pictures and video. Johnny, and Johnny's mouth. How Mark is pretty sure he was dreaming about sucking Johnny's dick, like for real, and how his body is still languid and interested in that idea even awake.

"They'll forget about it in a week. Unless you give them more things to write about."

Donghyuck is frequently too blunt, but sometimes, in moments like these, he's cagey. Mark knows what he's really asking. "Honestly, I'm not going to do anything that could hurt the band. Anything else," he adds hastily.

"Mmm," Haechan says, unreadable.

It's hard not to get defensive and over explain, but Mark keeps himself measured. "I've got to let my lawyer know we're moving forward with negotiating, but like, I don't know. It's a lot of stuff to consider. And I don't even know that I want some of it."

"Like what?"

"Like, uh, moving out of the dorms."

Hyuck pauses, setting down his moisturizer and peering directly into the camera. "I'd sell my left kidney to move out of the dorms. If your lawyer thinks he can get it, then I wish him the best of luck."

"Really? You want to move?"

"I want some privacy, and to not have to listen to Doyoung moan in his sleep every night, but it's not like it's the most important thing on my list right now."

"I guess," Mark says, turning that over.

Haechan wanting to move surprises him, and he finds himself doubting how true it is, whether Hyuck is saying this to make Mark feel more confident in his lawyer's demands. But that's something Taeyong would do, not Donghyuck. If he says he wants to move, he must actually want it. Not only the Doyoung part—he could switch roommates at any time if he wanted to stop their Tom-and-Jerry routine, which is how Mark knows he actually lives for it—but the desire for privacy, for not living like they're perpetually in college without any of the perks of being in college.

Before, Mark couldn't have imagined living on his own or outside of the dorms in general. His routine is chaotic but very well-managed; he likes the consistency of coming home and sitting on the couch with Yuta, playing guitar while Taeil—or over the last year and some, the dorm auntie—grills samgyeopsal and Jungwoo steals cooked pieces of meat when no one's paying attention. He likes knowing that some of his favorite hyungs are a few floors below him, that he can make runs to the convenience store at two a.m. for snacks and be wearing his house shoes the whole time. That he's as safe as he can get, surrounded by staff and many layers of security. That they can all get ready at the crack of dawn and pile into the company vans to be driven to filming locations and not have to worry about coordination.

But now, having seen how Johnny lives, or at least a sliver of it, cozy in his own apartment with freedom unimaginable to Mark, he feels wistful. Some part of it reminds him of when he lived in Canada and only had to worry about school schedules and sports. And church. Mark used to be able to go to church.

Maybe he could find somewhere in a gated community. Maybe he could get a house like Baekhyun. He could invite Johnny to visit and help him decorate. That would be nice, Mark thinks, his heart thumping hard in his chest.

Maybe Johnny could teach him how to drive.

"If you're worried about your lawyer's requests upsetting any of us, don't be," Haechan says, and Mark realizes he's been lost in thought for a minute or two. He's taken off his headband and has carried Mark over to his closet, where he's digging around for clothes to change into. "And if you're worried about the leader thing, you should relax. I'm sure we'll all figure it out if you really can't do it."

"So you won't mind if Taeil-hyung becomes leader or something?"

Haechan snorts. "If you think Taeil has the constitution to lead us, Johnny-hyung's dick has rattled your brain."

" _Donghyuck_ ," Mark chokes. "Whoa, that's not—"

Hyuck tilts his head at him, frowning, then pulls his full lower lip between his white teeth. "Too far?" he says, a little sheepish.

"You didn't— I mean— How did _you_ know?" Mark demands, at a loss. "I didn't know I, uh. I didn't know until a few days ago that I like— I just didn't know."

There's a long, long pause, where Mark's brain goes haywire imagining Hyuck is going to absolutely destroy him with some anecdote Mark's forgotten or repressed, potentially reveal something about Mark that Mark himself has never picked up on, but all Hyuck does is say, "You forget how long I've known you. Give me some credit."

"I'm saying _I_ didn't know this about myself," Mark says, exasperated with himself for being awkward with the words. "Not just Johnny-hyung. I just... didn't know."

On the call, Haechan is holding very still. "I didn't know it was like that, then. I'm sorry."

"What are you— You're apologizing now? Donghyuck-ah, I'm—I'm having a sexuality crisis, not dying of tuberculosis." He laughs, the sound overwhelmed, and sits up in Johnny's bed, the covers pooling in his lap.

"You've really had a week, haven't you?" Haechan says, unexpectedly gentle, and then switches the video so all Mark can see is his closet, none of his face. "No one cares if you're sleeping with Johnny-hyung or anyone else." His hand trails over the sleeves of his sweaters, until he finds an old hoodie and lifts up the cuff, waving it at Mark. "Do I want to look cute on set or do I want to be comfortable?"

"Comfortable," Mark answers immediately. Haechan snags the hoodie off his hanger, as well as a pair of what Mark thinks are track pants, and throws them onto Doyoung's bed.

It's unexpectedly awkward, the silence on the line as Hyuck busies himself with gathering accessories and Mark blanks on anything else he could say. Hyuck always suspected—always _knew_ —this thing about Mark? While it doesn't feel alien, the attraction to Johnny, it was buried so deep, Mark feels excavated now that it's loose. His heart is a crater.

But if Mark didn't know it was down there, how did Haechan?

"I can hear you thinking," Haechan says. "Please stop before you give us both a headache."

"I'm confused, Hyuck," Mark admits. "I've got a lot I need to figure out."

"So figure it out, I'm not stopping you."

Mark laughs, this time sounding normal. "Isn't that why you called me? To help me figure it out?"

"I called you to make fun of you, but sure, that works too," Haechan says, and Mark is surprised when he switches the camera to front-facing again. He looks more tired than he did when he started the call, face soft, still gleaming from his skincare products, eyes heavy-lidded. "I love you, loser. Come home to us when you're ready."

"Okay," Mark says, struck. "Donghyuck-ah, I—"

"And tell your lawyer to be merciless," he says, speaking overtop Mark as if it's not even happening. "He needs to break in the company so I get what I want when it's my turn."

"Okay, fuck, sure," Mark says.

"I need to change now, so I'm hanging up," Haechan says, while Mark just stares at him, the slopes of his face that he knows so well. "Have a good day—night, Mark-yah."

"Night," Mark says, but the call is already over.

He sits in Johnny's bed, surrounded by Johnny's things, Haechan's words ringing in his ears like a klaxon. Hyuck—and even Yuta and Doyoung—make it sound so simple. Stay in New York until he's ready to come home. Sic his lawyer on the company. Get what he wants. Want to kiss Johnny—want to kiss a man. Want to do more than kiss him.

Maybe it's simple, but it's not exactly easy. Mark has never struggled so hard in his life, not when Johnny left or when he debuted with three bands and ran on four hours of sleep all the time. This is bigger than all of that.

He pulls up the email from Mr. Kim and writes a reply confirming that the terms are approved, including the one about the option of off-site housing. It's only two lines, but it's Mark's future, and it could mean everything.

 _Fuck, maybe having a stupid drinking scandal will convince them I'm not leader material after all_ , Mark thinks, stifling a strange, half-hysterical noise with his hand as he presses send on the email draft.

🍂🍂🍂

When Mark opens the bedroom door, he's hit with the smell of fried chicken. His heart's calmed down, or at least feels like it has now that he's slept some and had that strange but very productive conversation with Haechan. He feels refreshed. He wouldn't describe himself as hopeful, but he feels better. Less like he's treading the edge of self-destruction.

Johnny's standing at the stove holding metal tongs over the sound of sizzling and oil crackling in the pot, and he turns to look at Mark when Mark enters the kitchen.

"Hey, you," Johnny says with an encouraging half-smile quirking up. He looks so handsome just standing in his kitchen frying some chicken, and Mark can't even begin to wrap his mind around the fact that he missed the signs. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. I talked to Hyuck."

"Oh," is all Johnny says at first. Mark isn't inclined to let him know what he got from that call; it's between him and Haechan, and the revelation that Hyuck always thought he liked men is Mark's issue to unpack later. "So it went well?"

Mark stretches absentmindedly, going onto his toes and brushing Johnny's ceiling with his fingertips. He only realizes his shirt rose as well when Johnny's gaze flickers there, to a strip of skin above his waistband, and then back to Mark's face. "It went really well, yeah," Mark says, a flash of excitement improving his mood all the more. Mark's slow on the uptake, sure, but he's not oblivious enough to misinterpret being checked out after what's gone down. "I sent Mr. Kim a note saying to go forward with the negotiations. Like, I'm all in for it."

"Holy shit, dude." Johnny sounds impressed, but the spitting oil draws his attention back to the stove and away from Mark.

"I can't believe you let me sleep so long," Mark says, coming closer to peer over Johnny's shoulder at the golden-brown chicken he's frying. "I feel like I could run a marathon."

"You needed it, trust me. We'll just have to keep you occupied until bed."

Mark smirks when he sees Johnny's shoulders tense, realizing he left himself a lot of room for a lurid interpretation, but Mark doesn't comment. There's a pin in the topic for now. He's going to respect that until Johnny's ready to unpin things. But fuck, the freedom of realizing what's been going on, and the idea that he might be able to act on it, explore it, it has him wanting to bounce in place. "You need any help?"

Johnny considers this, taking out a piece of chicken to drain it on a paper-towel-lined rack. "Get the table set up, I guess?"

"On it."

The table setting is as nice as Mark can make it for fried chicken. He considers putting a candle Johnny has on one of his bookshelves on the table, as a joke, but then he realizes Johnny might not realize it's a joke and that he has no idea where a lighter might be. He contents himself rearranging some of Johnny's succulents.

"So what did you do while I was zonked out, dude?" Mark says, watching Johnny methodically drain chicken and then pop new pieces into the oil.

"Caught up with my nine thousand notifications, mostly," Johnny sighs. "Yejun sent me a message checking in on you, you might want to text him and let him know you survived."

"I gotta send that guy, like, a fruit bouquet or something," Mark groans. "I think he carried me up your stairs."

"Yejun always has to show off," Johnny huffs, shaking his head. "Tell him how much you appreciate his big, strong muscles and he'll forget the whole thing ever happened."

Mark laughs, a little shrill, at the idea of saying something so… forward to Johnny's ex. But then he guesses this is where they are, now, after Yejun carted his drunk ass home. Yejun's in the whole mess with them. "I'll make sure to do that."

"Celeste has been trying to convince me that she needs to come over and comfort you with ice cream and edibles, but I told her to hold off for now."

"Awww, that's so nice," Mark says, ignoring how wild it is that Celeste can offer him edibles like candy, when back at home he's always been too terrified to think of experimenting with weed. The threat of ruin and jail time is too real. "Well, it's not like I can leave the apartment right now to see her outside of here." Mark feels his mood dim at the reminder. "Eugh, man, I want to go back to the bar so I can experience it when I'm not, like, jealous and drunk. It would be fun."

"Yeah, that's never happening again," Johnny says, clipped and serious. He flips a thigh in the oil and turns down the heat. "But if you want to see people, we can just bring the bar to you."

"You mean, like, invite everyone here? That could be nice."

"Celeste isn't going to be put off for much longer. I think she thinks she's adopted you, fair warning."

"I think she might have, yo," Mark laughs.

A timer goes off, and Johnny looks down at the stove. "Hey, can you grab an oven mitt and take the corn cheese out of the oven?"

"You went all out," Mark marvels, stooping and being extremely careful with the bubbling casserole dish as he maneuvers it from the oven to the wooden chopping block on the counter.

"I made all the sides," Johnny discloses. "I figure you deserve some junk food. And I know how much you love chicken."

Mark really does love chicken. Especially when it's homemade, by Johnny Suh, simply to cheer him up. He hums under his breath as he helps Johnny finish up, checking on the rice cooker when it beeps and getting the rest of the banchan from the fridge. Johnny even has some mashed potatoes kept warm in a bowl near the heat of the stovetop.

When they sit down to eat at Johnny's table, the little succulents between them instead of the romantic unlit candle, Mark finds it hard to look at Johnny, his handsome face, his eager attention as Mark tastes his food and closes his eyes from how good it is.

Even though Mark's got bedhead and Johnny's forgotten to take off his apron from frying the chicken, and though it's in Johnny's apartment, nowhere fancy, it feels like a date.

🍂🍂🍂

After, as is their routine now, Mark does the dishes. There's a lot more of them this time, and Mark's arms are sore by the time he finishes, runs a towel over Johnny's damp counters, and sighs with the victory of a completed task.

"I thought you said you could run a marathon," Johnny teases him, settled at his laptop on the couch.

"Rumors of my energy have been super exaggerated," Mark says, coming out of the kitchen and flicking off the light. Johnny keeps things pleasantly dark at night.

It's with a little caution that Mark sits on the couch next to Johnny, half a cushion of space between them, and with a lot of fizzy surprise that Johnny moves his laptop to the side and sling his arm around Mark's shoulder to pull him in close.

Mark doesn't quite know how he's here, his shoulder pressing against Johnny's chest. It's so warm.

"This okay?" Mark asks, to be sure.

Johnny's hand lifts to press against Mark's forehead, fingers carding through Mark's bangs. "Yeah, I think so. Is it—"

"It's great, dude," Mark says, relaxing some.

They sit like that for a minute or so, close but not on top of each other, Johnny's arm a firm weight, Johnny's presence familiar but making him tingle with awareness, with potential.

"You smell like me," Johnny says so softly, Mark almost misses it.

"Is that okay? That I used your stuff?"

"I like it," Johnny replies. He's quiet for a while, and Mark can feel the stops and starts of various conversations building between them as Johnny thinks. He should have known they couldn't just sit here and enjoy the moment. "We need to talk about this."

"Okay, let's talk about this." Mark takes in a shuddering breath to steel himself. He doesn't know if it's better or worse that he's not looking at Johnny directly, but he's glad that he can collect his thoughts without having to be disarmed by his eyes too. "Let's unpin it. So, like, I don't know how to—"

"Do you mind if I talk first? Before we get it all out?"

Despite his words, despite the mounting tension, Johnny's fingers slide into Mark's hair and start stroking his scalp, chasing shivers down Mark's spine. If he wants Mark silent, this is the way to get it. It's almost too good. He nods emphatically and clenches his fists on his lap.

Johnny swallows audibly, fingers carding through Mark's hair so gently.

"I've only ever really fallen in love, like, maybe twice in my life," Johnny starts. They're both facing the T.V., and Mark can see their reflection in it like a portrait. "And the first time was with this guy named Deven. God, he was so fucking cute. So charming. I met him my freshman year in college, when he was just starting grad school, and for the first time in my life I knew what those love songs were about, you know? Like I got why people liked that rom-com shit so much. He used to make me laugh like crazy, used to say the nastiest shit in bed."

Mark bites down on his tongue at hearing the fondness in Johnny's voice over this guy.

"But he wasn't out, and I was okay with that because I wasn't either. It didn't seem like a big deal," Johnny continues. "We were happy, even if it was in secret. He wasn't the first guy I'd ever slept with, but I was his, and it was exciting to know that I could show him that. Make him feel that good."

The fingers in Mark's hair pause.

"Then one day he just dumped me cold, told me that the experimentation was fun and everything, but he was done with it," Johnny says. He stumbles on the word _experimentation_ like it's acid in his mouth. Mark's lips pinch with indignation, but he keeps them shut. "I find out a few weeks later that he's seeing someone, a rich girl from Minneapolis or whatever. Photos of them all over his Facebook. They got married after a year of dating."

Well, fuck. Mark can't sit here through that and not do something; he can't stay a docile statue. He twists, Johnny's hand falling out of his hair, and notes how tired and sunken Johnny's eyes look as he remembers.

He still doesn't say anything, though. He awkwardly rests a hand on Johnny's knee, realizing it might be weird, but he's determined to see this through, to give Johnny some kind of silent comfort.

"My not wanting to start anything is to protect me as much as it is to protect you," Johnny admits. "But I also have to realize how different the situation we're in is."

"I have no fucking idea what to do or what to say about Deven, man," Mark says, voice cracking and low. "But I would never treat you like that."

"I know," Johnny says adamantly. "I know. I know you wouldn't."

Mark pulls his feet up onto the couch and turns to face Johnny, though not having Johnny at his back makes him feel oddly cold. He crosses his legs beneath him and reaches out to smooth Johnny's furrowed brows with his thumb, trying not to overthink the gesture, going with his instincts.

"Is that what you're worried about? That this is all experimentation for me?"

Mark holds his breath even if the living room is so silent, the only sounds filtering in the distant ones of Johnny's neighbor's guitar. He watches Johnny shift his body to face Mark in turn. He watches Johnny swallow and tracks the movement of his Adam's apple when he does. Watches Johnny lick his lips.

"That's not all of it, like, the cognitive dissonance when I look at you is kinda… breaking my brain all the time, but yeah. It's a big part of it."

Mark can't fault him for that logic. Even he isn't sure what to call this, what's brewing between them, and is uncertain of its shape, its boundaries, but most people would reasonably default to _experimentation_. As Mark told Haechan, he didn't know. He didn't know until he kissed Johnny that he wanted to. Or that it was an option. He doesn't know how to do more than kiss Johnny, though Mark's not enough of a fawn in the woods to be totally ignorant of how it works.

When the option of kissing Johnny was presented to him, he could have rejected it, been disgusted by it, or just been scared by it, but he only wanted more. _Wants_ more. He's not experimenting to see _if_ he wants Johnny. He knows he does. Rather, he's experimenting to see what it's like in practice. To see if it goes all the way, to things Mark's never considered before.

"It is," Mark admits, as much as it pains him. "Like, duh, obviously, I've never—you know. But I don't look at it that way."

Johnny gives him an odd look Mark can't figure out. "How do you look at it, then?"

He's turned these thoughts over and over in his mind over the last few days, even said a few of them aloud, admitted them in ways big and small, but trying to put them in order for Johnny seems impossible. He has to try anyway. "Like—I want as much of you as I can get, and I'll regret it for the rest of my life if I go back to Seoul without it."

"Fuck," Johnny says, and looks down and away from Mark.

"I mean it, though," Mark says, leaning in, trying to stress what he is sure of. "Like, if you meant what you said, that you aren't going anywhere, that we can stay friends—or whatever, I don't… Damn, this isn't coming out right."

"Take your time," Johnny says, and looks up again. His face is shuttered, the vulnerability Mark knows is all over his own expression locked away, but he thinks he gets it. This is a lot, and Johnny's been down this road before, or a similar one.

"No matter what happens, it won't stop me from wanting to be friends with you. Wanting to, like, fix everything and move forward. You know what I mean?"

"I think so."

"I, uh, I wanna kiss you again, dude. And I want to see what else we can get up to. And it's not going to change anything."

Johnny's locked-down expression twists at that, a flash of alarm or something censorious crossing it, and Mark holds up his hand.

"I'm not stupid, I know sex can change things"—God, Mark really said _sex_ like the idea of him having sex with Johnny is a real thing, what a world he lives in—"but what I mean is it's not gonna change the fact that you're really important to me. You're one of my best friends. I, like, I care so much about you," Mark says, despite how hard it is to say and how worried he is he sounds dumb and young when he says it. He hopes Johnny hears the truth of it nonetheless.

Johnny quirks a brow and a half-smile in the same moment. "Mark, yesterday you were furious with me because you thought I didn't care about you."

"No, I was furious because you kept talking to Sehun but left Taeyong out in the cold," Mark argues. "And also that you dropped it on me like…" Mark makes an exaggerated clueless shrugging gesture. "So yeah, clearly there's some shit we need to work on still, but I…"

When Mark fails to come up with a way to end that sentence, meandering into nervous bullshit yet again, Johnny doesn't bat an eye. "I want to work on it too. I don't want you to go back to Seoul with regrets, or with us in worse shape than we were when you got here."

"Right, exactly."

"The last thing I want is for you to feel pressured into anything. That's what I'm most worried about. I don't want you to feel like… I dunno, like because you know I'm into you, you have to reciprocate or take it further. You're not obligated to do anything. You can stay here for as long as you want, for as long as you can push it, and we can go back to just being bro—friends."

He does his best to keep his chin up, to not look away with how embarrassing it is to be this direct. "I already know I want more than that. I mean, there's clearly something here, you know?"

Johnny nods, and he pulls a hand through his hair. "Yeah. I… yeah. There is."

Mark wishes wildly, only for a second, that they could toss this heaviness out of the window and get back the recklessness he felt coursing through his body when they were boozed up and angry. He knows what those hands he's staring at feel like when they work a knot out of his neck, what they feel like when they're pulling him in close while Johnny all but devours him.

Mark wants so much, he shakes with it, but inasmuch as he knows some of what Johnny feels for him, he understands why Johnny would want to hold back. "I get it, though. I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything either."

Even if he's willing and eager to climb onto Johnny's lap and pick things up where they left off in that cold stoop, he's not going to push if Johnny has real reservations. Now that he knows what those reservations are, though, he thinks he can start tackling them.

"Right. Good."

The conversation has clearly reached an impasse, but Mark doesn't feel stuck, doesn't feel the same frustration he did when Johnny was rejecting him at every turn. He feels like they made progress, even though it's unclear what that will look like. And Johnny's moving on the couch, breaking the spell, grabbing a nearby blanket and offering a portion of it for Mark to slide under, next to him.

"You wanna watch some mindless TV?" he asks.

"Maybe like a nature documentary or something," Mark agrees, not wanting to go near anything that could inadvertently remind him of lawyers, the entertainment industry, or sex.

Johnny finds something on Netflix and pulls his laptop back onto his lap to work while Mark watches. All that energy he felt is gone now, expended on the effort of their conversation—and maybe on digesting such a heavy meal. Johnny at his side feels comfortable, and the documentary is interesting enough to keep him off his phone, still in his pocket. He has the ringer on for his important contacts, and it's not like Mr. Kim would have heard back from SM already. He probably hasn't checked his email yet, given it's the weekend.

At around nine, Mark's unable to stifle the yawn that leaves his mouth and makes his eyes water. Johnny looks at him, and Mark sees warmth there. At this point, he'll take anything he can get, even if it's only this.

"You need to get more sleep," Johnny says. "I'll take the couch again."

Mark recognizes the kindness of Johnny's offer, his care for not pushing Mark, but truthfully all he wants is to curl up next to Johnny's warm body. To get back the deep, undisturbed sleep he had in the same bed as him.

"Can we please sleep together?" Mark asks as evenly as he can. "Just sleep. I promise. Please, can we just get on the bed and close our eyes and we can figure out the rest tomorrow?"

Johnny studies him for a moment, bathed in the light of his PowerPoint document and the Netflix show, and Mark wonders what he sees. "Yeah, we can do that. But I need to stay up and work some more."

"That's fine," Mark says, dizzy with relief, prickling with anticipation. Even if his brain knows nothing's going to happen, his body is thrumming. "I need to shower and probably answer some messages." He stands up, like getting all of that done will magically accelerate the timeline of whatever Johnny's working on. "Come in when you're ready."

"Okay," Johnny says, with a small smile.

Mark feels his eyes on him as he collects his last clean set of pajamas from his suitcase, only ceasing when he disappears into the bathroom.

🍂🍂🍂

Mark's asleep before Johnny comes to bed, but he wakes up to Johnny sliding between the covers, hair damp and fragrant, shushing Mark when he tries to sit up, tries to twist over onto his side to see him.

"Go back to sleep," he says, and all of Mark is one giant tingle of pleasure, of contentment, as he sinks back into the pillows, knowing he'll sleep well now that Johnny's with him.

The only point of contact Mark remembers before slipping back into slumber is Johnny's whispered "goodnight, Markie," and fingers in his hair.

🍂🍂🍂

It's warmer than Mark's used to, and it takes him several seconds to figure out why: over the course of the night, he ended up wrapped up in Johnny. Mark feels Johnny's hot breath tickling the nape of his neck, and his back is pressed up flush against Johnny's chest.

His hand is tangled between Johnny's fingers.

Mark's heart rate spikes, even as he tries to control his breathing so that it doesn't startle Johnny, so that he can remain like this instead of Johnny jumping out of bed for crossing an imagined boundary that Mark doesn't want in the first place. It's clear he's failed at subtlety, though, because Johnny sucks in a breath behind him and freezes for a second before Mark is holding on to him, rubbing his hand slow but firm on Johnny's forearm.

Mark turns in his arms, shucking off the blankets with his legs while resting his head half on the pillow, half on Johnny's bicep.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't dare break the spell of the early morning haze that blankets them. Johnny's awake, his eyes searching Mark's face, and Mark doesn't miss the momentary glance down to Mark's lips. It's a gentle silence that fills the space between them while Mark cups Johnny's jaw with his hand.

They're so, so close, Johnny's face cuts between blurring out of focus and coming in sharply in view, and in his head, Mark chants, _Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me._

"Please," is what Mark whispers instead.

And then Johnny's lips are on his in an instant, soft, plush and a little dry, a little chaste.

Mark exhales into it, catches Johnny's breath in his mouth, holds it there. He's never kissed anyone like this before: controlled and desperate and overwhelming. He's replayed their sloppy, drunken kiss over in his head so many times that it's almost jarring how different this one feels.

Johnny slides his tongue into Mark's mouth, and Mark feels it change, feels his skin catch fire. It's worse when Johnny's hand finds its way to Mark's hip, his thumb gently stroking on the skin exposed there where Mark's T-shirt has ridden up.

Someone moans—Mark isn't sure who—but it makes the moment more surreal, more like the dreams Mark's been waking up from lately. He can feel everything: his heart pounding in his chest, Johnny's teeth biting down on Mark's lower lip making Mark gasp out, Johnny's hand cradling the back of his head while his other hand pulls Mark in closer.

Mark is filling out, the arousal starting to spike from only kissing, and he finally, finally dares to bring his hand to cup over Johnny's ass, squeezing the firm muscle there, and that's when Mark feels it—Johnny's erection pressing into his thigh.

It catches him by surprise, and Mark pulls away to see the same hooded eyes he remembers from when they were at the gym. When he grinds up to meet Johnny's hips, they stutter and pull away momentarily.

"Johnny," Mark says in wonder. "You're so fucking hard."

Johnny huffs, pressing his forehead to Mark's while Mark squeezes his hand over Johnny's ass cheek again to get him closer, and fuck, Mark is _also_ so fucking hard. "Yeah, well, you can't really blame me when you kiss like that."

Mark doesn't give him time to speak any more than necessary, not when they're here, not when Johnny is hard because of Mark kissing him. His lips find Johnny's once again, and he slips a thigh in between Johnny's own, making Johnny curse under his breath and press down with his hips. Mark's lips feel like they're going numb, there's a low ringing in his ears as he feels Johnny grind down against him, and it's so, so unlike being with a girl, and Mark wonders if he can get Johnny's sweats off—

Since he's left his phone on Do Not Disturb with his close contacts as exceptions, he goes stiff when it chimes with a video call notification.

Unfortunately, his brain is kiss-drunk and panicked and doesn't realize he should do more than pull away from Johnny and run a frantic hair through his hair before answering, worried it's urgent. He registers that Ten's the one calling a microsecond before his thumb swipes to accept the call, and that doing this right now is the worst impulse Mark's ever followed.

"Uh, hi," he says, scratchy with sleep, and coughs. "Just woke up. Is everything… good?"

Ten is sitting at his desk with his tablet set up in front of him, Louis cradled in his arms, and Mark hopes Ten just came from a photoshoot or something because he's dressed to kill, intimidating as hell with his black hair pushed back and his eyeliner sharp.

Well, he's intimidating until he leans closer to the screen and squints, then bursts into incredulous laughter.

"Oh, I woke you up?" he says, throwing his head back to cackle more. Louis squirms in his arms, and Ten releases him. Louis' absence helps Ten look slightly less like a Bond villain, at least. "Kitten, this connection is _shit_ and I can still the stubble burn on your face." He wipes his eyes with one graceful finger, black-clad shoulders shaking.

Johnny, who scrambled off the bed the second he realized Mark was answering the call because he has a survival instinct where Mark is lacking one, mutters, "Oh my God." Mark tries not to glance over, but he can see Johnny looming in his peripheral.

His dick is slowly getting the memo that now is not the time to be interested. Mark is sincerely grateful Ten can only see his face and shoulders. Sheepishly, he reaches over and fumbles for his glasses.

"Haha," he says as he slides them on. "Oops."

Yeah, his mouth is swollen and red, and there are patches of irritation around it. Johnny's not really responsible for his epic bedhead, but it doesn't help the overall picture of someone who was very recently made out with. Or mauled.

"You could have called me back," Ten says, calmer now.

"I panicked," Mark says miserably, scooting back against the pillow and Johnny's headboard. Johnny is still hovering by the side of the bed, and Mark wants to let him know it's okay to leave, but he doesn't want to draw even more attention to the fact that Johnny's right here.

"I guess it saves us from a very awkward conversation," Ten says brightly, so brightly Mark knows he's putting this on for Mark's benefit.

"Does it?"

"Well, noooo," Ten says kindly, "but don't look so scared! And tell Johnny to get back on the bed, I need to talk to you both."

Mark stifles a sigh and jerks his chin up to look at Johnny, who is staring at Mark with dawning horror. Mark shrugs helplessly. "You heard the man," he says.

Carefully, slowly, Johnny maneuvers himself onto the bed. On the screen, Mark sees him pop in and out of frame as he settles. Mark ends up passing him the camera since he's got longer arms and can fit them into the viewfinder better.

God, they look like two children seated side by side for their scolding. It's almost funny.

"Hi, Ten," Johnny says, gruff. Mark knows he's got to be freaking out—Mark's barely keeping panicked screaming at bay himself. But this is how things are now: Donghyuck knows he likes Johnny, and Taeyong knows they kissed, and now Ten. The members keep precious few secrets from each other, all the better to protect each other and close ranks, and this is no exception.

"Hi, Johnny," Ten says, the edges of his voice strained but pleasant enough. "Long time no see."

"This is such a fucking comedy of errors," Johnny moans, scrubbing a hand over his face. He looks less wrecked by their kissing than Mark, which feels unfair. Mark needs to grow more stubble so he leaves a bigger trace of himself. "There's so much shit I need to say to you, and this is not how I saw it happening."

"Too bad," Ten says simply. "You and I aren't important right now. You and Mark are. Mark is the _most_ important."

"Right," Johnny says. "We're in agreement about that."

"We'll get to you and me later, Youngho," Ten says, a smiling, dark promise.

"Uh, are you sure you need me here for this?" Mark asks. "If you just want to terrify Johnny, I can—"

"I called to check on you, you ridiculous baby. Like, I was worried sick for you all night and day!"

Familiar guilt surges through him. Mark's been doing good at keeping the feelings regarding his drunken mistake pushed down, but then something that will happen and the panic and worry will leak through. "I'm sorry, bro. You shouldn't have to worry about me like that."

"It's what I do, Mark Lee. I called because, like, I need to make sure you're not beating yourself up for making a mistake." He levels a sharp, assessing gaze at Mark through the screen. Whatever he sees in Mark's wide eyes and mussed appearance makes him sigh. "Anyway, I know I can't, like, _stop_ you from feeling terrible, but I want to say you're going to be okay. And that I'm happy for you!"

"Wait, what?"

"I'm happy for you and Johnny," Ten insists. "It's a little weird for me, but I'm used to weird."

In the viewfinder, Mark sees Johnny smile softly and duck his head so it's not as obvious.

"Wow, okay. I can't— Like, I wasn't expecting that, but I guess I really appreciate it?" Mark says.

"You know I've got you, bro," Ten says, with a small, genuine smile aimed just at Mark. "You can talk to me about anything, you know? Whatever it is, I'll answer."

Ten's been the one he turns to about relationship advice, life advice, to talk about art and music, in between all the laughing and nonsense they get up to. Ten's like Yuta in that way, or Taeyong, but things between him and Ten always felt special because they used to get to work together so infrequently, before SuperM. They still have to make plans to meet up regularly, to put effort into keeping close. And Mark knowing about Ten's sexuality always made him feel trusted, more adult—the irony of this new development is not lost on him.

"Okay, yeah," he says, warm. "Nothing's changed for me too. You're still my best evil twin."

"You're damn right," Ten says. "But I need to talk to Johnny now, for a second, so like, go eat some breakfast or water his plants or something."

"Okay, hyung. Be nice," he warns, and trades a glance with Johnny that he hopes shows apology and support. If anyone's earned the right to give Johnny a piece of his mind, it's Ten. He's not gonna stand in the way of that.

"What are you talking about? I'm always nice," Ten says, as Mark slips out of bed. "Honestly, what have you been telling my baby?" he hears Ten continue, the sound dropping off as he closes the bedroom door behind him.

Mark tries not to be nervous as he makes himself a bowl of cereal with one of the many nut milks in Johnny's fridge. He isn't too worried—he doesn't think Ten and Johnny are going to have some dramatic fight or anything—but it's hard not to think that Ten could say something to undercut the progress they've made, albeit unintentionally. Johnny's already swimming in doubts; Mark's not doing much better; the last thing he needs is Ten reminding Johnny of what all could go wrong.

He's finished his cereal and is considering putting on the Netflix documentary they were watching last night when he hears a loud noise from Johnny's room, kind of like a shout. Mark freezes on the couch, waiting for any sort of context or maybe another noise, but there's nothing.

Mark's about to get up and go knock on the door when Johnny bursts through it. At first, Mark thinks he's crying and gets the usual sinking sensation of _Oh no, I have no idea what to do_ , but then he sees Johnny's laughing, and he's barreling straight toward the couch.

"Look," he says, and brandishes the phone at Mark, laughing so hard Mark has to grab the phone from him to even see the screen clearly.

Ten's sent a screencap of a tweet, it looks like.

[Image text: **M ♡ 22** _@cobalamincosel_ : Johnny Suh is not the person he used to be. He is not going to help you but take advantage of you. His influence on you is not good. I cannot give you all the details here. What he says will always make you feel insecure and he's trying to draw you & others into homosexuality. 5:22 P.M. Nov 17, 2020. Twitter for iPhone. 1.6k Retweets, 5.8k Likes]

"Oh God," Mark moans, laughing after he feels an initial surge of alarm and then realizes what the tweet is referencing. "It's that fucking— I need to send this to the chat, hold on."

He does so in a hurry, and in quick succession, Ten sends a tongue-out emoji, Lucas sends a question mark, and Taemin, the ever-patient angel that he can be when he feels like it, sends back a somewhat inscrutable sticker of a cat wearing sunglasses.

When Johnny drapes himself over Mark's shoulder to read the group chat replies, Mark can feel him shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Dude, are you okay?" Mark asks, giggling a little himself when Johnny reads the tweet again and starts chuckling anew. "It's not _that_ funny."

"Fuck, I'm a mess, sorry. I just, Ten took me to church, okay, and then he sent that to see my face when I read it, and I think my brain gave up. This is the weirdest day of my life, maybe."

Mark pats Johnny's knee. "We'll get you through it, don't worry."

When Jongin sends an eggplant emoji, Johnny loses it all over again, slipping from a seated position against Mark to lie on his side, punched-out _ha-ha-has_ escaping him in more air than sound. He's always been a relatively quiet laugher, Mark muses, taking the opportunity to run his fingers through Johnny's hair.

"I always wondered," Mark says, as Johnny snuggles his face against Mark's thigh. "Like, why couldn't they give all the details? Is it top-secret or something?"

"Probably, yeah, they don't want to reveal their _sources_." Johnny looks up at Mark with wide, fond eyes. His face is… dangerously close to parts of Mark he was rubbing up against earlier. It's hard not to flash back to what they were up to in bed before Ten called.

But when Johnny smiles up at him, in that moment, Mark forgets what they're talking about, lost in the easy closeness, the way Johnny makes himself small to curl up on him like this.

🍂🍂🍂

The day passes in a haze of chilling on the couch with Johnny and talking about everything and nothing. It's interrupted by jarring moments of Mark remembering he's way anxious about things and in limbo waiting to hear from SM and his lawyer, but overall it's nice.

He catches up with a backlog of texts, including some from Taeyong sent late last night that went something like "Mark bro answer me. Answer meeeeeee!! Where are you" with increasing intensity until Taeyong remembered the time difference and sent an animated Apeach sticker with wide eyes and a shocked open mouth.

Johnny ends up working on his laptop again, on the opposite end of the couch from Mark, their legs tangled in the middle. He keeps getting distracted answering Mark's questions or looking at the funny reaction images Mark's accumulated on his camera roll, though they're having such a good time Mark can't feel bad about it.

"Anyway, uh, then my next relationship was like, I don't know, four months?" Johnny says, in the middle of recounting his dating history after Mark admitted curiosity. "We broke up because of a fight about concert tickets, so obviously it wasn't meant to last, but we still run into each other occasionally."

"Is he another ex you're friends with, then?"

"She," Johnny corrects absently, attention on his laptop screen. "Yeah, I guess. Friendly enough."

"I haven't really stayed in contact with any of the people I, like, dated and whatnot."

"You dog," Johnny says, glancing up to waggle his eyebrows. "Hit it and quit it, huh?"

"No, it's just… I couldn't really be seen in public with any girl. I kinda gave up on dating." Not to mention how bad Mark was at it. He constantly felt like he was letting the girls he tried to date down by not being more available, by being less into them than he suspected they were him, and by being generally awkward in bed.

Weirdly, Mark doesn't have the same nerves about the prospect of sleeping with Johnny. Like, the world won't end if Mark is bad at giving head. Johnny already knows Mark is at square one.

"I did that after Deven. Stuck to hookups. It wasn't really for me, but it was fun for a while."

Mark's on the verge of asking what changed, how he picked himself up after Deven, when Johnny looks up from his computer again and laughs, leaning back, showing off the length of his neck. Mark definitely wants to bite it, which is new.

"Oh man, that just reminded me. I met this guy on Grindr and invited him over or whatever, and when I answered the door, he stared at me for like thirty seconds. I was like, okay, I know none of us really use face pics on there, but I'm not _hideous_ , so why's he staring, right?" Johnny's chuckling to himself, while Mark marvels at the fact that people can use an app to get hookups to their door like they're ordering pizza. "And then he opens his mouth and is like, 'Johnny Suh?!'"

Mark makes a high-pitched noise of disbelief.

"Yeah, I was all, 'I beg your pardon? Do I know you? Are you from Illinois?'' Anyway, no, it turns out he was really into K-pop."

"Oh my Jesus, he was a fan? What did you do?"

"I mean." Johnny shifts, his leg brushing against Mark, a distracting sensation as he refuses to meet Mark's eye.

"Johnny," Mark says, laughter building up in his chest as Johnny continues to squirm. "You _didn't_. You know better than to sleep with fans!" It's been drilled into them since before signing their contracts that crossing that line only leads to heartbreak and leaks. While Mark knows quite a few idols have bent the rules, for the most part, he and his members steer clear.

"He'd taken an Uber to my place, okay, I felt bad," Johnny says, defensive and flushing, if Mark's eyes aren't deceiving him. "He seemed pretty normal. I didn't think he was going to collect my toenail clippings."

"You don't know that! What if he took pics of you while you were sleeping?"

"Oh, he went home after," Johnny reassures him, which just cracks Mark up, how transactional the whole thing was, but it's not like Mark didn't once get a handjob from a makeup noona backstage at a music show, thank her profusely to the point of almost bowing, and never see her again. Mark's such a disaster. He and Johnny deserve each other. "But not before he asked me if I'd ever hooked up with Taeyong."

Mark clutches his chest, bowled over by the very idea. "No, not— Please don't put that image into my head!"

"Relax, Taeyong and I weren't a thing." Johnny smirks at Mark and then fakes a dreamy smile, a wistful exhalation. "I never dared to aim so high."

"Ten would have killed you, for starters," Mark points out, and Johnny laughs at that, easily, at the ghosts of their past among the strange transformation of their present.

This, Mark realizes, is some of what he wanted when he was younger—Johnny to talk to him like an equal, to tell him the ugly and funny details, to let him in. The realization that he's got it, that Johnny isn't censoring himself, that Mark isn't locked out of areas of his life, is hard to process.

"Where'd you go?" Johnny asks, curious. "Still picturing Yong—"

Mark snags the pillow from behind his back and tosses it at Johnny—gently, so it doesn't fuck up his laptop. "Shut up and go back to your work if you ever want to kiss me again," Mark demands. "Oh my God."

"Okay, okay, I take threats like that seriously," Johnny says, belying himself with a smile.

They settle back down into chilling, no more tales of hookups or breakups, but Mark keeps taking peeks at Johnny over the top of his chat with Jungwoo, and a few times he catches Johnny looking back.

🍂🍂🍂

Mark hears the jangle of Johnny's keys before Johnny steps back into the living room, dressed in distressed jeans and a massive green sweater, his widow's peak showing under his black beanie. _Jesus,_ Mark thinks. _You're so fucking handsome._

"Call me if you change your mind about your order or want me to pick something up along the way, all right? There's a bodega nearby, and a CVS right next to it for whatever else you might need," Johnny says, standing next to the couch where Mark's seated with his feet curled up under him.

Mark has to crane his neck up really high just to look at Johnny's face, and he can't help but wonder how the hell Johnny walks around New York City looking like this without having people wanting to throw themselves at him. "Yeah, man, order whatever, but like, easy on the dairy," he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

Johnny has a fond smile on face, or at least Mark hopes it's fond, and leans in to leave a quick, chaste peck on Mark's forehead. "I'll be quick. Mi casa es su casa, etcetera, you know the drill," he says, then straightens up and heads out.

Mark sags into the cushions, willing himself to calm down because his fight-or-flight tells him to worry about Johnny's safety, but Johnny insisted that he would be okay, and that he really wanted Mark to try the meatballs and polenta from the shop three blocks away.

"Besides," Johnny said earlier after announcing his plan to head out for a bit, his foot nudging Mark's knee. "If people are watching my comings and goings, isn't it like more sus that I'm holing up indoors?"

Mark hates that he's right, but given the shit that the band had to deal with years prior, Mark feels the old panic extend to Johnny. Still, Johnny's his own person, and this is his turf. Johnny had dealt with whatever fallout there was from the leaked photos of him at Pride, and he dealt with the aftermath of his confirmation of his own sexuality.

It's early morning in Seoul, so the chats that kept his phone buzzing all afternoon have hit a lull, and for the first time since landing in this city, Mark realizes that he has absolute silence and privacy.

It's starkly different from the last couple of days, and Mark finds himself grateful for it. He rises from the couch and stretches his entire body, reaching for the ceiling, standing on his tiptoes before swinging forward to reach his feet. Baekhyun was always on his case about doing yoga, and Mark's starting to think that he should actually start taking his hyung's advice given how good this feels.

Mark glances over the titles that line Johnny's bookshelves. There's a mix of biographies like Ruth Bader Ginsberg's and Alexander Hamilton's, a few volumes of manga, a small section of what Mark figures is classic literature, some hardbound photography collections, including one that is just straight-up erotica and that Mark can't bring himself to thumb through. The shelves make it clear how much of Johnny Mark doesn't know about, or only knows in passing anecdotes and throwaway jokes, and it stings to know that he doesn't have the opportunity to learn all of that before he leaves.

Johnny leads an entirely different life from the one Mark was privy to when Johnny lived with them, yet despite that, despite the years between them, Johnny has been eager to let Mark in from day one.

But more than that is Mark's own eagerness to share _his_ life with Johnny. He thought it was the giddy emotion of reconnecting with someone that he wrote off as gone forever, but between Mark's first text to Johnny and the kiss that Johnny left Mark with, Mark finds that he feels like his entire life has righted on its axis somehow. The re-entry of Johnny into Mark's world was the necessary kick to make things make sense in a time where Mark was starting to lose the plot, though he knows it's rich of him to say this when the last few days have done anything but make sense.

He sighs when he sees the framed photos Johnny has of himself with his family, with Sky and Celeste and the rest of the gang that Mark's been lucky enough to meet. Photos of Johnny's friends from high school with Johnny in a shitty rented suit and rebonded hair; a group shot of three guys in Loyola sweaters, Johnny in the middle, arm in arm with a shorter blonde with a bob cut; Johnny with Celeste and someone Mark doesn't recognize at the shore of a lake, smiles wide, Celeste's wide, floppy hat threatening to obscure Johnny's chin.

There isn't a single trace of NCT or the Rookies in this apartment, and while Mark doesn't hold that against Johnny, not anymore, it still hurts, especially when Mark thinks about the small seal plushie that he's held onto for years, never able to give himself a real reason for not tossing it away long ago.

He wonders, as he settles back on the couch before he gets more morose, if Johnny will keep traces of Mark here now. If the Polaroids that Johnny took of him in Brooklyn will find a home on Johnny's shelves, too.

He occupies himself with venturing through the minefield that is his searches, and while they're still kind of fucked, it seems like Ten's promised distraction of posting a selca of him kissing Winwin's cheek seems to be working—at least on the fans on Twitter who are losing their shit over it.

He's ventured off into the stranger side of Twitter by the time he hears the front door open again, Johnny's voice calling out, "Baby, I'm home." Mark swears his heart grows two sizes too big at the pet name, unable to keep the smile off of his face, hopping up to stand as soon as Johnny enters the living room with bags of takeout.

Mark acts on instinct, the command from his brain telling him to wrap his arms around Johnny's waist while he buries his face in Johnny's chest.

"Well, hello to you too," Johnny laughs, and Mark feels the kiss that lands on the top of his head. "I wasn't gone that long, was I?"

"No," Mark mumbles, but now that they're here—now that Johnny is letting them be here, whatever _here_ means—Mark can't help but fixate on how he's _so_ quickly becoming too used to these small things, and very soon he'll have to be without them again. "I wanted to do this because I can, you know?" _While I can_ , he doesn't say.

He looks at Johnny, and there it is again, the softness in his expression from earlier. Johnny nudges Mark's cheek with his nose. "I know," Johnny replies quietly. "Come on, let's eat."

Johnny's gotten them chicken, beef, and pork meatballs in different flavors, with heaps of polenta and broccoli as side dishes, as well as a couple of IPAs to wash everything down. They settle in front of the T.V. and put on _The Mummy_. Johnny tells him about how dreamy he used to think Brendan Frasier was, even as a kid unaware of his preferences, and Mark reveals his massive flame for Rachel Weisz.

The food is wonderful, but the company is better. They've both seen this movie already, so Johnny peppers the entire experience with his anecdotes. Normally Mark wouldn't care for this sort of chatty commentary while he was watching something—an old irritation from when Jeno and Jaemin used to do that shit every time Mark would come over to the dorms—but Mark takes everything Johnny says and tries to file it away. This is what he was missing. This is what he always wanted out of all of the attempts at dating that he bumbled his way through.

Johnny is just so easy. To like, to be with.

Mark hasn't even rebooked a flight home yet, but he's already mourning the loss of this: the softest place Mark has ever landed in, laughing on Johnny's couch with his meatballs held close to his mouth and Johnny's legs tangled in his.

🍂🍂🍂

Mark can barely see his reflection in the mirror while he brushes his teeth a little more vigorously than he usually does. His heart's going a mile a minute because the day has wound down and all he can think of is the possibility of getting a repeat performance of this morning's hot and heavy makeout session.

He's been itching to pick up where they left off, but the day was too soft, too sleepy-happy for him to want to do more than lounge on the couch like two cats and enjoy each other's company.

Now, though, Mark's bracing himself for it.

Johnny doesn't seem inclined to do anything that he thinks Mark isn't comfortable with, and while Mark is grateful for the gentle handling and the fact that Johnny's doing his best to be respectful of him, Mark is also really just so fucking horny he doesn't know what he'll do if all Johnny wants to do tonight is cuddle.

He spits out the spearmint and vaguely considers not changing into his sleep clothes—which Johnny sent out to be laundered and are thankfully fresh again—but he figures dropping the towel at the foot of the bed would be too forward and would probably give Johnny a heart attack. Mark really isn't willing to do anything that might stop him from getting to second or third base. He doesn't even really know what those things mean, but he's sure that he wants to do more than kiss, so for his sake, and Johnny's, he pulls on his grey boxer briefs and his too-tight T-shirt and towels off his hair.

Mark walks into the room with his towel still in his hands, trying to come up with a plan for the next day given that Johnny has to go into work again come Monday. "Hey, so I was thinking—"

Johnny drops his iPad. It tumbles and lands on the floor with a muted thump since its leather case has cushioned the fall. "Holy shit, Mark," he says, and Mark takes a few seconds to register what's going on as Johnny's gaze sweeps the length of Mark's body.

Mark swallows. Nervous. Hopeful.

"Uh, hi?" he says sheepishly, self-conscious now that he's here. Mark has no idea how he's supposed to seduce anyone, let alone a man, but he feels bolstered by the fact that Johnny's looking at him like he wants to eat him. That's probably a good sign, right?

Mark drapes his towel over the back of Johnny's chair and bends to pick the iPad up, resting it on the bedside table while Johnny stares at him with a wonder that makes Mark's cheeks heat up.

Over the years, Mark's learned that he is actually capable of being sexy when he gets out of his own head about it, but it's something else entirely to be on the receiving end of the look Johnny is giving him.

"Markie," Johnny says seriously. "God, look at you." Johnny has his hand out, palm up, and Mark takes it in his as Johnny swings his legs over the edge of the bed and pulls Mark in closer to stand between his spread knees. "Can I—"

Mark's lips are on Johnny's in an instant, and it's ridiculously unfair that he barely has to lean down to kiss Johnny, that's how fucking tall he is, but coherent thought begins to leave him when he feels Johnny's tongue trace along the seam of his lips. Mark opens up, allowing the wet slide to consume him as Johnny's hands roam down from his neck to his back to his ass, kneading the muscle there.

It feels really fucking good but also really fucking weird. Mark squirms from it, torn between wanting to press in closer to Johnny and also pulling away, because it honestly kind of tickles. He can't contain his laugh.

Johnny pulls back, and Mark's heart sinks because of course he'd ruin the mood, break the momentum, but Johnny's smiling up at him, and Mark's knees fold on either side of Johnny's hips until he's flush against Johnny's chest and kissing him again.

He's in over his head, sure. Johnny's done anal with other guys, and the closest Mark's ever gotten to playing with his own asshole is when he washes himself up. He's never ventured into this territory, and he's admittedly overwhelmed by it, but that doesn't change the fact that Mark is steadily starting to fill out in his boxers, and he can feel Johnny's growing erection pressing into his ass.

"Just tell me if we're going too fa— Jesus," Johnny says, his forehead smacking into Mark's chest when Mark hazards grinding down on his lap. Okay, so that works for Johnny. Mark smiles to himself and attempts to see how much more of his tongue he can work into Johnny's mouth.

It's inelegant, and Mark can feel a little spit from where Johnny is sucking on his bottom lip, but he doesn't have time to overthink it because there are hands gripping under his thighs. His entire center of gravity is thrown off and spun around once over until Johnny is on top of him, and Mark's going to lose his mind.

"Holy shit," Mark gasps, both from the fact that Johnny's strong enough to manhandle him and also that there is an erection _right there_ sliding against his own. Mark cannot believe that he never considered how hot that could be, that rubbing his dick against someone else's dick could feel this mind-numbingly good.

"Jesus Christ, you're a dream," Johnny whispers, making Mark heat up, cheeks on fire from the praise.

He's absolutely incapable of processing everything that's happening, save for the fact that Mark doesn't think he's ever felt this turned on with anyone in bed before.

Mark finds himself exploring the planes of Johnny's firm back, his chest, and there's a blaring noise in his head that's demanding that clothes come off _now_.

"Can you… like, can this—" Mark says, tugging on Johnny's shirt. "Off?" He can't form complete sentences right now, not when he can see every expression on Johnny's face, illuminated by the lamp on the bedside table, everything bathed in a warm yellow-orange glow.

"Are you sure—"

"Johnny, please, please, I really wanna see your like, abs, dude," Mark groans, fully bunching up the material before Johnny chuckles under his breath and pulls the shirt off one-handed.

Mark goes breathless once he's got an unfettered view of Johnny's lean abs and nipples, both of which are brown and small and perked up from the cold. "How are you real?"

Johnny mouths at Mark's jaw, at his neck, and Mark's vision swims until he can barely make out the ceiling with his glasses on.

"I'm starting to get a little obsessed with you smelling like me," Johnny says, laughing that stupid, sexy laugh of his before rolling his hips against Mark's and making Mark cry out, spreading his thighs to give Johnny more room to move and grabbing two handfulls of toned ass.

Is this how Johnny moves when he fucks? Does he prefer to be on top? An odd, curious noise wells up in Mark's chest and turns into a moan at the thought.

"Ah, I'm starting to really like smelling like you," Mark manages to reply, bucking his hips up to meet Johnny's. They aren't doing much except rutting against each other, but Mark's head is buzzing with it, the aching need for more. "These," Mark says, tugging on Johnny's sweats. "Off too."

Johnny braces himself on his elbow and pulls his hips back to look at the space between their bodies. "You're so wet, baby," he says, marveling at the spot on Mark's grey underwear where his precome has smeared all over and seeped through, visible but not at all embarrassing even when Mark thinks he should be embarrassed.

"Dude, I'm telling you," Mark says, breathless. "I've never been this turned on in my fucking life."

Johnny smiles like he's won the lottery and leans in to catch Mark in another searing kiss. His warm hand finds its way under Mark's shirt, and Mark's trying to keep his body under control, but he's shaking too much, the muscles in his belly jumping at Johnny's touch under Mark's shirt.

"Can—can I touch you?" Mark's voice is unsteady from the shuddering breaths he has to keep taking.

"I think I'll die if you don't, honestly," Johnny replies, and that's all the permission Mark needs to palm Johnny through his clothes.

 _Oh fuck, oh fucking hell_ , Mark thinks. _He's huge_.

Of course Johnny would be huge. Of course it would feel this big in his hand. He panics some before he reminds himself that Johnny won't do anything that Mark doesn't want to do or isn't ready for as Johnny breaks their kiss to take a breath. There's sweat on his forehead now, and Mark wonders how much restraint Johnny is using to go this slowly.

He must feel like they're doing this with training wheels on, since Mark's so inexperienced. Mark has no idea what Johnny likes in bed. He doesn't know how hard Johnny likes being squeezed, or how Johnny feels about blowjobs, and—

Fuck. Blowjobs. Mark traces the outline of Johnny's dick with the tips of his fingers, barely putting any pressure, and now all Mark wants to do is get his mouth on it.

It's like taking off Johnny's clothes is reminding him there's nothing scary, just skin, an opportunity for pleasure. Mark feels lightheaded with possibility.

"Can I suck your dick?" Mark asks, and Johnny looks bug-eyed at the question before he inhales sharply and then chokes on his spit.

"Woah, wait, hold on, man," Johnny says. "That's… that's, uh."

"You don't want me to?" Mark asks, playing coy. He knows what his eyes must look like to Johnny right now. He knows what the jut of his lower lip can do.

Johnny closes his eyes, takes a long inhale, and then an even longer exhale. "You're crazy if you think that I don't want you to," he says very seriously, blinking to look down at Mark. "But that's kind of a huge step, we can start out slow—"

"We don't exactly have time for slow, though," Mark says softly. It shouldn't hurt, not when he's all but begging Johnny to let Mark suck him off, but that's the current that buzzes between them anyway, because it's the truth. Mark doesn't have much time left here. He's got to accelerate the progression if he wants to get through all of the unknowns. "And you can talk me through it. Tell me how to do it. I'm good at following instructions."

Mark gives his cock a squeeze for emphasis, and Johnny keens, his forehead dropping to Mark's shoulder. "You make a compelling argument."

"I know." Mark gets up on his elbows to reach Johnny's lips again, to meet him halfway and kiss him properly before he's pushing at Johnny's chest to turn them over and get Johnny on his back.

"Full of surprises, aren't you?" Johnny says in wonder before bringing him in closer to press kisses along Mark's neck. "God, yeah, okay, but we'll go slow."

Mark smiles and then crawls his way over to the space between Johnny's spread knees. The view from here makes Mark's mouth water: Johnny's shorts are tented, his chiseled abs so flatteringly lit by the bedside lamp, his chest rising and falling in shallow, controlled breaths while Mark traces the edge of the waistband.

"Uh, you're gonna have to—yeah," Mark says as Johnny lifts his hips, granting Mark access.

It happens in slow-mo, the way Johnny's thin trail of hair from his belly button opens up into a small nest of dark brown curls. Mark has obviously had boners before, has seen his share of cocks belonging to other members, but he's never seen one hard and up close that wasn't his own.

Johnny's cock is so stiff, twitching in the cool air, and Mark has no idea where to start. Johnny seems to anticipate that, gently Mark by the hand and helping him wrap it around his girth. Johnny's dick jumps at the contact, and Mark cannot believe that he's the one responsible for getting Johnny riled up like this.

"Fuck, you're so big," Mark says, stroking gingerly. Johnny's dick is so nice, much nicer than Mark's own. It's red from how stiff it is, hot and responsive where Mark puts more pressure. Precome beads at the head, then slips down the side, no foreskin to impede it.

Mark leans in to catch it with his tongue, and he hears Johnny swear from above him.

It doesn't taste particularly good. He thinks of how girls only offered blowjobs if they were rushing and guesses it's rare that anyone actually likes giving them. He's not shocked by the way he's perturbed by the slippery, salty experience, though it is admittedly a little disappointing. But then he glances up at Johnny's face, and Johnny's eyes are focused on him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth while his breathing begins to deepen.

Yeah, he can deal with a weird taste if that's how Johnny's gonna look at him. Fuck.

"That's good," Johnny says as Mark continues to lick along the shaft, resting his elbows on either side of Johnny's hips while he uses one hand to hold Johnny's cock upright.

Mark doesn't think he's doing anything particularly worthy of the praise, but it spurs him on anyway. He tries to draw on what he remembers from being on the receiving end, following Johnny's small commands of, "Right there," and, "Less pressure—yeah, that's it. Focus on the head, I'm real sensitive there."

The tip fits heavy against Mark's tongue. Mark locks eyes with Johnny just as he sucks, and Johnny's expression breaks along with his control. He fists at his bedsheets before he hisses a drawn-out, " _Fuuuuck_ ," and throws his head back.

Mark still has no idea what he's doing, his mouth feeling stretched and hot already, but if he can get Johnny to curse like that more and make his eyes roll to the back of his head again, then he'll figure it's as good a plan of action as any.

He's on all fours, and his own cock jerks in the confines of his boxer briefs. Without really realizing he's doing it, Mark palms himself through the cloth while working his tongue over the slit of Johnny's dick.

Johnny groans, his hand wrapping around Mark's wrist, tugging on it to get Mark's attention. "You can't— Fuck, you're so goddamn hot, come here." His voice is wrecked, deep and croaky, and he sounds so gone, though Mark's barely done anything. "Get this off, I wanna feel you too."

He scrambles to comply, shaky hands pulling at the hem of his shirt and tossing it over the edge of the bed. Mark straddles Johnny's hips as Johnny meets him halfway, mouth wet and insistent, Johnny catching Mark's bottom lip between his teeth and biting. There are hands everywhere—hands along Mark's back, hands on either side of Mark's hips.

For the second time that night, Johnny switches their positions and slides Mark's underwear down and off, throwing it over his shoulder before crashing back down.

Everything is warm and heady. Mark loses track of whose limbs belong to whom before he watches Johnny spit in his hand. Mark's hearing goes, absolutely leaves him the moment he feels Johnny take both his cock and Johnny's own in a fist. That's Johnny's cock sliding against Mark's, Johnny's precome mixing with Mark's to slick the way, Johnny's hand making the tightest channel for the both of them to fuck into.

Mark's heart is going to rip out of his chest, he's sure, he's sure he won't survive this, sure that he's making an ass of himself because he's crying out, locking his arms around Johnny's neck while Johnny's mouth huffs hot against his cheek, muttering, "You feel so good, so fucking good," while he torques his hips and jacks the both of them off.

Mark's embarrassingly close—he hasn't been with anyone else in almost a year, and this is beyond anything he can comprehend at the moment. His jaw is slack, and he manages to stutter out an, "I'm c-close, Johnny," and Johnny says, "Yeah? Come for me, baby," and that's all it takes before Mark's vision whites out.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Mark comes hard and _loud,_ his throat raw from yelling Johnny's name while Johnny's hand keeps working over them both, and then Mark feels the hot spurt of come on his belly as Johnny joins him before collapsing half on top of Mark, half on the mattress.

The ringing in Mark's ears and the numbness in his lips begin to abate, and he manages to catch his breath after a few solid moments of stunned silence.

"Hey, Johnny," Mark says, chest still heaving while he's starfished on his side of the California king.

"Yeah?" Johnny replies, slack against Mark's chest. His cock is softening now, smaller when flaccid, and Mark wonders if he's going to be brave enough to get that inside of him somehow. He wants to at least try, and that says… a lot.

"I think it's safe to say I like men," Mark says seriously, a nearly undetectable tremor in his voice, before Johnny snorts with laughter and then curls up into Mark, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"God, you _would_ say that after having one"—Johnny holds a finger up—" _one_ sexual encounter with a man."

"Okay, fine," Mark replies, turning his head so he can watch Johnny when he says, "I'm sure I like you, then."

The smile that blooms on Johnny's face is so much. Mark flushes with feeling, with unspoken words.

Mark will figure this out. His contract, his departure date, all the things he wants to try with Johnny in bed. He has to. His life can't remain suspended here in this New York apartment when everything else outside of it still exists and still moves and turns and needs him. But for now, Mark surmises as Johnny leans in and wraps an arm around Mark's waist so he can kiss him again, that can wait.

🍂🍂🍂

Johnny's been teasing him for a solid thirty minutes now, the water around them in the bathtub having gone tepid minutes ago, though the one pipe that serves as a heater in the far corner of the bathroom seems to be doing its job.

They're both pruney, trading languid kisses in between the gentle strokes that Johnny's been edging Mark with underwater for the last quarter-hour. Johnny doesn't seem to care, either about that or how folded-up and uncomfortable he must be, to fit in the tub with Mark. He keeps nipping playfully at Mark's ear, which they'd discovered earlier in the morning is actually one of Mark's (many) erogenous zones.

"I don't think I'm gonna hold out any longer," Mark whines, already desperate to come, legs clenching tight on either side of Johnny's hips while he braces himself on the tiles behind Johnny.

That's when Johnny's hand tightens, moving faster while Mark feels his back arch from the stimulation, his mouth hanging open before he comes quietly, the daylight making him revert back to old habits. It's not like he can cry out every time he jerks off in the dorms.

"Mmm," Johnny says, hand on Mark's back while he strokes him through his orgasm, mouthing at Mark's neck. "I like it better when you scream my name, if I'm being honest here."

Mark doesn't answer him, his head still a floaty cloud while he slumps onto Johnny's chest and Johnny's fingers dance down the knobs of Mark's spine. He holds on to Johnny's shoulders, his legs feeling like jelly. He can feel Johnny's erection rubbing along the cleft of his ass, and it makes Mark shiver for reasons not related to the cold.

It's ridiculous how sated Mark feels, and he knows he should be returning the favor, but Johnny seems to be content with the little thrusts he's making in the crevice between Mark's ass.

"Let me—"

"It's okay, baby," Johnny says softly, still holding Mark. "I'm okay. I'm good like this."

Kissing Johnny has easily become Mark's top third favorite thing to do, next to performing onstage and recording new music in the studio. He savors every second like he's starving for it, files away every brush of Johnny's tongue or clash of their teeth. There's still so much talking to be done, but Mark loses himself in the feeling, even if his legs are starting to cramp.

"Okay, come on, let's get dried off," Johnny says, laughing a little when Mark whines at their kiss being interrupted. "We're both so wrinkly, and I'm starting to freeze my ass off."

"You didn't get to—y'know," Mark says, grinding down on Johnny's lap where he can feel how soft Johnny's gotten.

"But you did, and that's all I care about right now," Johnny says, and Mark can't help but feel the sting of it, the insecurity of knowing full well how inexperienced he is coming full force.

"Do you think I'm, like, not good at—"

"Hey," Johnny whispers. "No, no, I don't mean it like that at all." Johnny pushes Mark's wet bangs away from his face. "Making you feel good does it for me," he admits. "It really, really does it for me. And honestly, I'm thinking more about how I want us to get warm than, like, me wanting to come."

"Fair enough, I guess," Mark says hesitantly, not completely convinced that Johnny isn't taking it easy on him but also starting to shiver.

"I mean it, Markie," Johnny says, taking Mark by the back of the neck and pressing a kiss into the corner of his mouth. "Do you believe me?"

Mark's insecurities aren't going to go away immediately, but all he's got to hold on to is Johnny's reassurance, so Mark kisses him back and says, "Yeah, yeah, I do."

He gets up on unsteady legs, weak from having held his position on Johnny's lap for so long, and the orgasm that his body still seems to be recovering from now that his blood can circulate properly. Johnny gets up gingerly and turns the shower on again, the hot spray of the water warming them both before they step out.

They've both got towels wrapped around their hips and are standing at the small sink, brushing their teeth and making faces in the mirror. Johnny is the first to rinse his mouth while Mark finishes scrubbing his tongue.

"I kind of hate that this feels so…" Johnny starts.

Mark swishes and spits a mouthful of water. "...So?" he asks when Johnny still doesn't answer.

Johnny takes a step closer right behind him, tall enough that he can rest his chin on Mark's head, seemingly uncaring of the fact that Mark's hair is still wet. "Right," he says, holding Mark close with an arm strapped across Mark's chest.

Mark looks at their reflection in the mirror, their faces illuminated by the yellow and white light overhead.

"Yeah, it does," Mark replies, before turning his head to the side in order to press a kiss to Johnny's forearm.

🍂🍂🍂

When the knock sounds at six, Mark answers because Johnny's busy in the kitchen and Mark shouldn't be trusted around gas stoves. On the other side of the door is Celeste, holding a bulging bag of groceries, and she makes a sound of delight when she sees him.

"My son," she says, as Mark laughs and lets her in, waiting as she toes off her shoes. He tries to take the bag from her, but she ignores every one of his attempts and sidles past him to set it down on the dining table. "How have you _been_? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Mark says, because even if it's not wholly accurate it's true enough. Right now, safe in Johnny's apartment, with Celeste ushering him into a hug, his face full of her hair, he feels more than fine. He feels a lightness he's been without for so long, he didn't know he was capable of feeling it again.

"You have no idea how glad I am to hear that."

She starts unpacking the bag and shoving items at Mark like he has more than a passing familiarity with Johnny's pantry. The ice cream he can at least put in the freezer, so he does that. Johnny shoots him a grin from the stove, where he's making mulled wine and some other stuff.

"We don't need to talk about it," Celeste says, "but let's just say that I went on a Mark Lee YouTube bender, and now I'm ready and willing to fight people in the street for your honor."

"That's… really nice, but I don't think you have to? It seems like it might be dying down, haha."

"That's my impression too. I'm so glad. The last thing you need is this garbage ruining your visit." She hits empty in the bag and heads for the living room.

Mark's sitting down on the couch next to her and thinking about the flavors of ice cream she brought when the buzzer to be let into the building sounds. Mark apologizes and pops back up, and Celeste waves him off and pulls out her phone.

After a couple of minutes, Yejun and Sky are at the door, and while it's nice to see Sky again, wearing actual fuzzy ear-muffs and matching gloves, the anxiety Mark has when he looks at Yejun nearly gives him tunnel vision. Yejun looks like he's holding back a smile, though, when Mark lets them inside. He just— Yejun has seen some of the worst of Mark, and he doesn't deserve it, especially having his face plastered all over the internet in conjunction with Mark's shame and scrutiny.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" He knows he needs to handle this before he can relax and enjoy the company. His mom raised him right; all of Mark's fuck-ups have always been deviations from that blueprint of honesty and morality, and he knows when an apology is needed.

"Sure." Yejun takes off his coat—not the leather jacket this time, this one softer and warmer—and hangs it up.

Mark takes him to Johnny's bedroom because there are precious few places with a door in this apartment. It occurs to him as he's closing it and Yejun casually sits on the edge of Johnny's bed, where Mark slept wrapped up in Johnny all night and had his first time with a guy, that Yejun's been in here too. Probably for… similar reasons.

Mark's ears and cheeks are burning, and his mind is awash in images of Johnny and Yejun. He clears his throat and makes himself look at Yejun's shoulder, since he can't bring himself to look at his face. The gray sweater Yejun is wearing conceals the muscles and tattoos Mark knows are underneath. Mark forces himself to shut down more thoughts of Yejun's skin. He's humiliated and jealous and _interested_ in a way he can't deal with right now.

"So, like, first of all, I really hope you're okay. I… I know I should have reached out, man, but I was so fucking embarrassed for getting you into everything—"

"Mark, calm down," Yejun says, and to his shock, he reaches out and squeezes Mark's wrist. "It's all good."

"Oh, dude, it is super not," Mark says. "But thank you for being cool about it anyway."

"I'm just glad we got you home safe."

"You haven't, uh, you haven't picked up any heat from me?" He knows that someone found Yejun's Instagram via a tag in an old post of Johnny's. Mark's fans went on a massive search-clearing campaign to try to keep the information from spreading, and Mark tried to make himself text Yejun, but beyond a basic-ass "I'm so sorry man," he kept putting it off. Waiting for the storm to die down. Waiting for the right words to get across how deeply fucking apologetic he is.

"I don't have much of an internet presence," he says mildly. Mark chances a look to his face, the almost harsh angles of it, the way his mouth is a plush but nearly straight line. He's so handsome. He doesn't look like Johnny at all, aside from the big-and-hot vibe, but he remembers Johnny saying they were too alike. At this moment, with Yejun so measured and kind, he believes it. "I work in IT, so my whole thing is security. Aside from a few new Instagram follower requests from, ah, _MarkLeesAngel_ and _NCTBussy_ , no one's gotten any traction." He chuckles, deep and warm, and Mark feels immeasurable relief that this is as bad as it's been.

"Well, that's good, I'm so glad to hear that, you have no idea. If it gets, you know, weirder, you can tell me."

"I will. You can relax, we're all good. Besides, we have more important shit to talk about."

Mark quails at that, dread overtaking him even as he squeaks an unconvincing, "Oh, haha, like what?"

"Like how I'm pretty sure we've slept with the same guy." Yejun laughs, nothing in it unkind, at Mark's face. "It's not hard to put together."

"Oh, God."

Mark doesn't know protocol here, though Yejun is obviously teasing him. His knees feel weak; Yejun's the first person who knows outside of the security of Taeyong, Ten, and Haechan. While he mostly trusts him by virtue of his place in Johnny's life, he doesn't know how to handle this. Like. They're dick sisters. He's pretty sure that's the term.

Mark sits on the bed before he falls over. Yejun pats his back.

"You don't remember much of the night I came to get you, do you?"

"Really not any of it," Mark says miserably. "Like, if I did anything—"

"You were fine. A handful, and wrigglier than an eel, but you were fine. But, um, even if John hadn't been telegraphing his thing for you from space, the jig was up when you asked me if he was good in bed."

Mark closes his eyes and slumps over. Yejun pats him again, gentler this time. "I'm so sorry. Jesus Christ."

"Like I said, we're good. I'm not trying to make you feel bad, I'm letting you know that I know you like each other, and it's all good. It'll stay with just me, I promise."

"No, dude, I… I believe you." Again, he mostly believes him. The last decade of Mark's life has taught him to be cautious beyond what most people would consider reasonable. But Yejun has been nothing but trustworthy and kind so far. "And thank you for being so cool about me, um, asking intrusive questions."

"I'm not gonna be mad about a drunken moment. And I get the feeling this is…" Yejun pauses delicately. "New for you?"

"Yeah, uh, your intuition is correct. God." Mark rubs his still flaming face and sighs. "Sorry for putting you in my business so much."

"I know we're not friends, exactly, but I think we could be, since you're going to be in John's life. And that's what friends do. They get into the shit with each other."

Mark agrees, but he also doesn't know how to tackle Yejun's assertion that he's going to be in Johnny's life. Like, of course he is, of course he wants to be, but there's a small logistical problem of Mark's career and a giant ocean between them. But now's not the time for Mark to start in on that.

"I'd like to be friends," Mark says.

Yejun offers him a fist bump, and Mark is clumsy in his hurry to reciprocate, which makes Yejun laugh again. He sling his arm around Mark's shoulder, squeezes him, and then stands up, disengaging.

"Then as friends, you can ask me if you have any... questions," he says meaningfully. Yejun's gaze catches Mark's charger, the odds and ends that have migrated onto Johnny's nightstand, and he smiles, eyes crinkling. "Somehow, I don't think you need the help, though."

🍂🍂🍂

When Mark and Yejun reappear from the bedroom, Sky is in the kitchen with Johnny, and Celeste is nowhere to be found. He doesn't think anything of it at first, assuming she's in the bathroom or stepped into the hallway for a call or something. But then he sits in the armchair and yelps when he glances down and sees Celeste's head level with his feet, on the carpet.

"What!"

Celeste lifts a hand from the floor and waves. She's sprawled on her back, her long, legging-clad legs lifted and bent to rest on Johnny's coffee table, skirt trapped between her knees. "Hey," she says, and takes a drag on a vape pen.

"Are you, like, comfortable like that?" he asks, incredulous.

Celeste nods and blows the vapor down the scalloped neck of her sweater. "I'd offer you some, but you look like you're about to be the star of a _just say no_ PSA, so I think maybe not."

"No, I'm good. On both counts, haha. You can… whatever."

"I'm done anyway," she says cheerfully, tucking the vape into what Mark thinks is her bra. "Do you want to get on the floor with me?" she asks. "I promise I'll only ask you three weird questions about being an idol."

"Two," Johnny shouts from the kitchen.

"Two," she agrees.

Hesitantly, Mark maneuvers himself onto the floor. He mimics her position, legs on the coffee table, careful not to kick Johnny's coasters or the lone succulent he has set out, and stares up at the ceiling.

"Okay," Celeste asks, down to business, and Mark turns to look at her and smiles, baffled but charmed by this whole thing. "You don't have to answer if it's too intrusive."

"Sure," Mark agrees. He wonders what she'll ask. Most people are curious about contracts, hookups, gossip. Who is secretly an asshole. Mark's got a thousand canned responses and little jokes to make people feel like they know something without giving them substance.

Occasionally, someone will try to pry way too deep. Once, someone asked him if the rumors about SM's dungeons had any basis in reality and seemed bewildered when Mark didn't laugh or answer them.

"Has your hair ever fallen out from all the bleaching?" she asks, and tugs a strand of Mark's hair. "Oh, it's springy. Do you do a lot of deep-conditioning treatments?"

Mark laughs, so surprised it sounds more like a high-pitched bark, and tugs on a silky strand of her dark hair in return. "Oh my God."

"I told you you don't have to answer! I'm just concerned about my new bias Mark Lee's scalp."

"My scalp is fine," he says, still giggling. He hears soft footfalls and turns his head to see Sky's socked feet as they come closer and plop down near Celeste and Mark on the floor, cross-legged. Their smile is wide, their one dimple very much present, and they're holding a mug of Johnny's mulled wine with a sweater paw over their hand. "It gets fried sometimes, and it falls out a bit more, but no. I've never gone, like, bald."

"You'd look cute bald," Sky says.

"What? I'd look like a nightmare," Mark laughs. " _Cute_?"

"My bias Mark Lee looks cute no matter what," Celeste says. "I'm going to start a Twitter dedicated to his various extremely cute hairstyles."

"I think those already exist," Mark says.

Celeste's chin lifts, and her eyes glint. "Mine will be _better_."

Johnny brings Mark a warm mug of his own, and Mark sits up, not about to try and drink it lying down. Johnny seats himself in the gap between the coffee table and the couch, and when Yejun returns from the bathroom, he freezes.

"Is this a floor party?" he asks. "Why wasn't I notified?"

"Get down here," Sky says. "We're talking about how Mark would be cute bald."

Yejun settles next to Celeste, and she digs around in her bra and hands him her vape, which he takes a hit from, though he does everyone the courtesy of exhaling into his sweater. Mark wonders if this is standard vape etiquette. "Mark, man, you're very cute, don't get me wrong, but uh. No. It'd be a bad look."

" _Thank_ you," Mark says. "That's the truth, dude."

"I think you could carry it off!" Celeste argues. "Maybe it's not the _most_ flattering look, but it would be fine."

"Celeste has been sending the group chat increasingly unhinged Mark Lee compilations," Johnny confides as he walks over and sits down, near Yejun. "I think she's lost to us."

"They're not that bad," Sky says reassuringly, looking at Mark. "She just puts them on when she's avoiding deadlines."

Johnny learns forward, holding out his phone to Mark and the group at large to show off a message where Celeste sent one of those numerous "five minutes of Mark Lee being awkward" videos he avoids like the plague. Her only commentary is _I WILL EAT HIM_. Mark cracks up.

"No, I don't want to be perceived, please," Celeste moans, and sits up, pulling her legs off the coffee table and staggering to her feet. "I need wine for this."

"Bring me one," Yejun calls after her.

Mark's surprised to the point of his breath stopping when Johnny scoots closer to him, closing the gap Celeste left, drawing Mark against his chest. Like it's no big thing. On instinct, he glances around, but aside from Yejun raising his eyebrows, nothing happens. Sky sips their wine, compliments the spices, and Mark tries to remind himself that just because Johnny's cuddling him doesn't mean anyone but maybe Yejun knows they're… involved.

Celeste comes back with a comically large mug of mulled wine that Mark suspects is actually for soup. "I added more wine to the pot," she says as she sits down again. "Because I definitely did just finish what was left."

"Do you have any snacks?" Yejun asks.

Johnny's arm is secure and comfortable around him, Johnny's body a soothing warmth. Mark tells himself to relax, reaching for his mug of wine as Johnny tells Yejun about the charcuterie board he prepared and Celeste lists all the stuff she brought. The sip Mark takes is puckery and complex, sweeter than he expected. It warms him from the inside out with each subsequent sip until he's cozy and limp against Johnny.

It feels like autumn boiled down to a moment. It feels so fucking good, to be like this with these people but especially the guy behind him. Mark curls his toes and sighs.

Yejun passes him a cracker with a slice of salami on it, smiling. Celeste holds up her phone to play Sky and Johnny a video, presumably of Mark, but Mark doesn't even hear it, drifting on a wave of happiness and sugary wine.

🍂🍂🍂

It's nearly twelve in the morning when everyone clears out. Mark and Sky ended up on the couch talking about their job—part-time DJ, part-time crisis-line supervisor—and music, which Mark can talk about for hours if given the opportunity. He only noticed the time when he started yawning and Yejun made noises about having an early start in the morning. Mark hugged everyone goodbye at the door, even though it felt like too much, because at this point he's pretty sure they all won't get a chance to hang again before Mark leaves.

By the time they've cleaned up the party refuse and gotten ready for bed, it's closing in one one a.m. The sheets feel different, Johnny having changed them some time between their shower in the morning and Celeste arriving, and they're so much nicer than the sheets he has back home in the dorms.

"Hey, you," Johnny whispers, and Mark turns on his side so he can face Johnny better.

Mark sighs when Johnny tugs him close, his lips finding Mark's easily, Mark opening up in an instant. Johnny licks into his mouth and Mark feels it shoot straight to his dick. His cheeks burn with the memory of last night, and this morning's activities, but also with the recollection of the things he searched up on incognito while Johnny was busy preparing for their little party.

He bit the bullet and Googled "anal sex" intially, which lead him down a rabbit hole of links to Healthline and a listicle of the benefits of anal sex, but most of those talked about lubrication, enemas, and the possiblity of being very, very sore after.

The thing is, after becoming acquainted with Johnny's dick the night before, Mark keeps getting distracted thinking about the prospect of having it inside of him. At one point, when Sky was talking about working a festival, Mark's attention straight-up wandered over to what position Johnny might fuck him in, missionary or on his hands and knees, and how much he hoped it would be the former despite the anxiety the mental image gave him. It's wild he's considering all this, given that Mark's only vaguely aware of what the prostate can do. He's never gotten more than half a finger up there.

He knows he'll be too chicken to explore on his own. But Johnny knows what he's doing. He can make sure Mark feels good.

"Hey, um," Mark says while Johnny works his mouth over Mark's collarbone.

Johnny makes a noise and pulls back, concerned.

Mark steels himself, forcing the bravado and bracing himself for the possibility that Johnny might say no. "I—I want you to fuck me."

Johnny gapes. "Hold on, what?" he asks, which isn't a no, so Mark pushes forward.

"Like, hear me out, okay, so," Mark says, and Johnny looks like he's torn between legging it out of the apartment and hiding his face that's gone a little red and splotchy. "I, uh… want you to put it in me? Jesus, this is the most unsexy way I could have—"

"Baby, baby," Johnny says, gentle, nosing along Mark's jawline and leaving butterfly kisses there before pulling back to look at Mark, a tiny frown on his face. "This is a huge deal."

"I know," Mark says, wagging his eyebrows. Johnny loses it then, finally, and dissolves into quiet laughter, then groans about how lame Mark is. This is okay. This is nice, even if Mark has, like, zero fucking game. "Look… I just—I wanna know what it feels like, and uh. It's you, you know?"

"And what does that mean, it's me?" Mirth's still in his gaze, but seriousness has crept back into his voice.

"That it's special, 'cause it's you," Mark replies, averting his eyes, embarrassed.

It's a truth Mark's been getting used to, that he trusts Johnny, even after the years they went with Mark feeling shut out and betrayed. Once Johnny was in his life again, Mark felt that same trust rebuilding itself, spreading deep roots. He was furious with Johnny last week because he was made to doubt everything all over again, wondering why Sehun deserved a place in Johnny's life when Mark and Taeyong didn't. But that's history, and Mark needs to move on from it.

Mark would never have gotten on that plane if he didn't truly believe Johnny deserves a second shot.

Johnny groans into Mark's neck before sighing. Mark can barely catch the words, but something that sounds like "wreck me" makes its way to Mark's ears. Then, "I want to. I really, really want to, but this is... I'd be your first—"

"Yeah, Johnny," Mark says, spreading his legs wider, bringing a leg up to curl over Johnny's hip. "You would be."

Mark's still soft, but he brings his hips flush against Johnny's and can feel the slight hardness there. He smiles to himself, arousal coursing through his own body knowing that this is the effect that he has on Johnny.

"You're sure? Anal isn't the be-all, end-all of sex, I don't want you to think you have to—"

"Dude, I'm sure," Mark interrupts, and his breath is cut off by the searing kiss that Johnny presses to Mark's mouth.

"I'll go slow," Johnny whispers, and Mark replies with, "Yeah, I know you will," and it's like a switch flips for Johnny, like he's ravenous. Like he's been waiting for the green light. Mark fills out in his shorts at the thought.

Thumbs dig into his hips while Johnny sucks on a spot on Mark's neck that makes Mark's eyes roll to the back of his head. Clothes come off one piece at a time chased by lips, Johnny's tongue laving at Mark's nipples. Mark discovers he enjoys Johnny's hissing when Mark sinks his teeth into Johnny's skin and cords of muscle and does it a few times to entertain himself, rubbing at the little marks his teeth leave behind.

When Johnny presses a kiss to his belly button, Mark whimpers. "Ah, fuck, f-fuck." He stares at Johnny situated between his thighs, the way Johnny's pulled one of Mark's legs over his shoulder. "Wait, shouldn't I, like, wash up again or something, I'm dirty—"

"You just showered," Johnny points out, but it doesn't do much to reassure Mark, whose legs are starting to close from the shame of it, losing his bravado now that he remembers the pages and pages he read on cleaning himself out. He managed to wash himself, like usual, but he's worried it's not intensive enough. "It's gonna feel a little weird—" A kiss to his hip bone. "And it might be a bit uncomfortable—" A kiss to his inner thigh. "But you're not dirty, baby."

"But what if when you, like… your f-finger and... you know?" Mark says, cringing.

"Do you need to use the bathroom?" Johnny asks, patient, like this is no big deal and not humiliating. "That might help you feel better about it."

"No, God, I already… went." He wants to ask how Johnny's so chill about this. At the same time, Mark has no idea how he has any shame left about bodily functions, after the havoc his guts have played on himself (and his members) over the years. But it's different. He wants to be sexy, and talking about when he last used the bathroom is the farthest thing from sexy he can imagine.

"Then you should be fine." He kisses Mark's hip. "Sex gets messy sometimes, you gotta know that. That's why the towel was invented."

Mark drags in a breath and nods, putting the articles he read and reread aside for now. He's not going to put a halt to this thing to go fumble around in the bathroom some more, and he doesn't know if Johnny would have the supplies he read about.

"You good?" Johnny asks.

"Yeah, just… in my own head about it, I guess."

"That's normal," Johnny says, and mouths at the skin under his navel. Mark shivers. "I think I can make you think about better stuff, though."

Mark laughs at that, the way his brain is already sliding out of his ears with each flash of Johnny's tongue. "I think you might be onto something."

Johnny strokes down Mark's side to his hip, soothing and ticklish all at once. "Can you reach over to my drawer and grab me the lube, baby?" he asks.

Despite a frisson of nervous anticipation, Mark tries to coordinate his left hand to comply with the request, but it's ridiculously distracting for Johnny to be licking along the crease of his inner thigh. He reaches out blindly and fumbles for the bottle when his hand closes around what feels like a—yes, it's a dildo, Mark realizes as he brings it closer to his face for inspection. It's pink, girthy the way Johnny is, and translucent, and Mark's brain blanks out at the image of Johnny having that inside of himself.

"Holy shit," Mark marvels.

Johnny stops kissing near Mark's dick and looks up. "Ah, not that," he laughs, and Mark drops it back into the drawer before he finally locates a half-empty bottle of Astroglide.

"Looks like you're running out," Mark teases.

He has no idea how he's coherent when Johnny's mouth has been near his dick for the last few minutes. He has no idea how he's so calm when Johnny is about to stick his finger up Mark's ass in the hopes of preparing Mark to take his cock, which is at least five times bigger than said finger. Maybe. Mark can't be bothered to estimate things when he's naked.

"Well, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since we started talking again, so," Johnny says, and Mark pushes himself up on his elbows so he can get a better look at Johnny who at least has some semblance of sheepishness at the confession.

"What!" Mark all but yells, except it devolves into a choked-off moan because that's when Johnny decides to take Mark's leaking cock into his mouth. Mark's got no words left in his arsenal, not a single one, not when Johnny fucking _deepthroats_ him.

It feels so good Mark's afraid he's gonna come before Johnny so much as gets a finger in. His whole body is rigid, straining, as Johnny sucks him expertly, groaning around it, like he enjoys the taste of Mark's dick, the way he's so deep Johnny's struggling to breathe.

"Johnny," Mark says breathlessly, warningly, as Johnny pulls back up with noisy suction so tight around his cock. He's so focused on Johnny's mouth he doesn't know to brace for Johnny's wet, searching finger. It's almost like a tease, a circle around his asshole, slick and gentle, and Mark doesn't know if he wants to arch away from it or toward Johnny's mouth as he takes Mark deep again, throat fluttering. "Oh, it's—ah, tickles," he says, and then snaps his mouth shut so he can't say more dumb stuff to ruin the mood.

But the mood isn't actually ruined, which Mark realizes when Johnny plays with his balls, then pulls back to breathe and flick his tongue over the slippery head of Mark's dick. "Good?" he asks.

Mark peers down at him incredulously. "Dude, I'm gonna bust if you keep it up."

"That's sort of the point," Johnny says, and takes Mark about halfway down, his cheeks hollowed, his finger slowly accepted by the clench of Mark's body. He can't be more than a knuckle deep, but Mark is already panicking that he's not going to be able to take more. It dosen't hurt, but it feels like so much, on the edge of too much.

Johnny doesn't move his hand, though, letting Mark get used to the intrusion, and he's sucking the head of Mark's cock like he's daring him to come or something. Mark can't even pretend to be jealous about whoever taught him to do it because this is seriously pro dick-sucking.

Mark's about to shove at Johnny's shoulder to let him know to pull off before Mark comes, but Johnny's twisting his wrist and wriggling his finger, pushing it up toward Mark's belly, and Mark jolts with unexpected sensation.

At first, he isn't sure if it's a good sensation, it's so jarring. His stomach goes concave with the breath he sucks in, and he freezes. Johnny gives him a lick and lets him rest against his abdomen, sticky and wet. He meets Mark's eyes, gaze hot, as he presses in the same spot again.

It feels like the moment before he comes, a dull spike of pleasure, but it's so much deeper, so much more intense. Mark whimpers.

"Good?" Johnny asks again, gravelly, and rubs one more time, harder, until precome spits out of Mark's cock.

"Oh, fuck."

"It's easier for other people to hit it," Johnny says, lips curving the smallest amount as he watches Mark's breathing get ragged, his head thrash on the pillow, "but you can do this yourself. Just make sure you've got your nails short and clean. Everything's delicate down here."

Literally how is Johnny lecturing him right now. Mark's body is twitching with every searching press of Johnny's finger, and Mark's digging his hands into his own hair, pulling tight at his scalp, to ground himself. It's not working.

"You can kinda get at it here too," Johnny continues, rubbing the sensitive area under Mark's balls, digging in with his knuckles. Mark is on edge again, even without Johnny's mouth.

"Ah, shit, I don't wanna come yet," he complains, forcing himself to drop his hands when he yanks at his own hair too hard.

Johnny stops jabbing at what Mark can only assume is his prostate and, to Mark's shock, slides his finger all the way in. There's no hesitation; Mark's body took him in like it was nothing.

"H-how…" Mark trails off, adjusting to the feeling, the steady pressure that Johnny applies. Mark feels a little bit like he's gonna come, a little bit like he needs to piss, but Johnny tells him to breathe, so Mark does.

"Are you okay?"

Normally, he thinks that might set him off, being checked in on so much, but Mark's honestly never felt more vulnerable. He swallows his spit and says, "Yeah, I'm… yeah. It's good."

"I'm gonna add more lube and try to get another finger in so I can stretch you out."

If Mark weren't on the brink of nutting, he'd probably process the emotion behind how gentle Johnny is being with him. As it is, all Mark can do is try to hold his hips still, his knees apart while Johnny does exactly as he said.

The stretch is more noticeable now, and Mark nearly cries out from the burn of it, but Johnny distracts him again, the head of his cock slipping between Johnny's pillowy lips allowing him to relax more. Then he feels it, the way two fingers are now buried inside of him.

Johnny talks him through it the entire time, alternating between sucking Mark's cock and sucking hickeys into Mark's inner thighs as he progresses from two fingers to three. Mark's toes curl from the pleasure-burn that spikes down his spine, and he feels so full, he's oddly curious to feel how much he can actually take in.

"I think I'm… Johnny, I'm ready," Mark says, his breath ragged, his chest warm, his face even more so when Mark sees the blissed-out, soft expression on Johnny's face.

"There's condoms in the drawers too," Johnny says. "And this is gonna feel weird, sorry."

Mark's not sure what he means, exactly—like, Johnny's dick going in? Mark already knew that wasn't going to feel like anything he's ever experienced before—but then Johnny's three fingers slip out and Mark can feel... He can feel himself gaping a little, the warmth of his insides tightening back up with the loss, and yeah. It is weird.

He's so distracted by the sensation that he lags behind the other thing Johnny said. When he manages to stop fixating on how wet and open he feels, Mark reaches toward the nightstand drawer. He's impatient when he brushes against the silicone of Johnny's dildo, fumbling deeper until he touches what feels like foil. He picks up like two and ends up flinging them in Johnny's direction.

"Don't let anyone try to fuck you without a condom," Johnny says, unwrapping one.

"I have had sex before," Mark manages, as one of Johnny rolls the condom over his dick, jacking it for good measure. He looks bigger like this somehow. Mark fights instinctive fear and reminds himself to breathe. "And there's no line out the door with guys I'm doing this with, it's kinda just you— Oh, fuck," Mark gasps, as Johnny deliberately rubs his condom-covered dick between Mark's spread cheeks. It made him clench up, but in like, a good way, somehow?

"Relax," Johnny says. "We're gonna go slow. It should feel good. You took my fingers like a champ."

Johnny ends up maneuvering Mark so he's propped up by a pillow, and he urges Mark's thighs up, which makes him feel really exposed, but considering Johnny's just had three fingers in him, there's no point in hiding. It's not a position Mark ever imagined himself ending up in, but it's not scary or anything.

To Mark's eyes, Johnny looks like a dream. None of the guys in porn Mark's seen look this good, this human, this eager, their hair flopping soft into their face, their lips wet and swollen, a little nick of an old acne scar on their chin. Johnny stares down at Mark's body like he's not a collection of skinny limbs and pale skin, with a cock to match. Like Mark doesn't look stupid spread open. Like Mark's a dream too.

"Look at you," Johnny says, his voice breathy with something that sounds like awe, shaking his head as he wets his dick with yet more lube, as if Mark can't feel it slipping down to the sheets underneath him.

Mark wants to break the tension, to squirm away from Johnny's obvious admiration. He doesn't get a chance to, since Johnny leans in and uses his hand to guide his dick to Mark's asshole again, nudging against it. Mark instinctively raises his legs to give Johnny more room, to improve the angle, and Johnny grins down at him in approval.

Johnny carefully, gently rubbing his dick until Mark's lube-slick body gives in shocks him with how easy it is. The head basically pops in, and suddenly Mark's clenching down around it, the thick intrusion, gaping up at Johnny's face, the way it's twisted in pleasure.

" _Fuck_ ," Johnny grits. "You're too tight, baby."

"It doesn't hurt," Mark says immediately, bemused by how that's the truth. He hooks an elbow under his right knee and pulls that leg back. God, at this rate he's going to turn into a pretzel. Maybe they should have done this on Mark's hands and knees after all, but then he couldn't see Johnny's face, the way the muscles on his belly are tight and trembling with restraint.

"I'm not gonna…" Johnny laughs somewhat desperately and puts a hand on Mark's thigh, fingers digging in like he's grounding himself. "I'm not even halfway in and you're gonna make me pop like I'm in high school."

"Then you better hurry up and fuck me," Mark says, on the verge of the same desperate laughter. Mark Lee is officially a person who can take another man's cock and ask for more. He always has been, apparently.

"Gimme a minute," Johnny says, and bites his lip, inching his hips forward experimentally.

This part of the slide is less easy. Mark puts a hand to Johnny's abs, stalling him for a second when his body pangs in a way that doesn't feel good. Johnny slides back out to the tip again. When Johnny makes another attempt to go deeper, he rocks back and forth so fluidly that Mark takes a few more inches without more of his muscles seizing up. He almost feels proud of himself. That seems like a weird thing to think in the middle of taking dick, but maybe it's a normal part of it.

Johnny's staring between their bodies like he's transfixed. "I'm gonna try thrusting," he says, strangled in a way Mark's starting to feel smug about. "Let me know if it hurts."

Mark can't help but brace for it, but the slide out isn't anything but another adjustment, another _Oh, huh_. Johnny doesn't try to pull out all the way, so Mark doesn't have to worry as much about that sensation of his body being suddenly empty.

"I think I'm… good?" Mark says. He's marveling at how Johnny's flushing, dappled with sweat, at how his own dick is still mostly hard against his abdomen, shiny in the lake of precome that's collected on his skin. Mark's never been so wet without coming before.

"I need a second," Johnny says, breathing out forcefully. Mark watches his abs clench, and oh— That's Johnny's dick twitching inside of him.

"You gonna come?" Mark asks, heady, pulse speeding up. He tightens up experimentally to watch Johnny hiss and bite his lower lip. "Am I that tight for you?"

Johnny doesn't respond, beyond a pained look that makes Mark go from feeling smug to powerful. He didn't know he could feel this way, that power had any place in taking cock. The way the minute movements Mark makes seem to register reactions in Johnny is blowing his mind.

But then Johnny puts his probably not inconsiderable experience to use and changes the angle, fucking the head of his dick right at that spot that was making Mark shake earlier. It's _definitely_ payback, but Mark isn't even mad, not when he goes slack-jawed and cross-eyed from it.

"Do it again, God," Mark demands. He wets his lips, locking eyes with Johnny as he pulls back enough to give Mark another one of those good thrusts, and he knows his face screws up into a stupid expression, but he can't help it. Johnny's grinding against it now, and Mark's officially leaking again. Mark's body arcs without him meaning to, the pleasure spearing through his synapses while Mark tries to tether himself onto the bed sheet. "Don't stop," he begs, voice unrecognizable as it climbs into a whine.

"I won't," Johnny promises.

He's true to his word: his hips don't stop rocking into Mark, and the sound of it is wet and loud as he goes harder and harder. When Mark wraps a hand around his neglected dick and starts pulling, fast the way he likes, it feels so much more intense than he expected that he cries out. Johnny stutters in his rhythm, his gaze directed at when Mark's hand is flying over his cock, like it's distracting him.

"Oh, fuck me," Mark begs. "I'm gonna… I'm gonna come?" He can't believe it, but it's building in him already, with each snap of Johnny's hips, with each time he puts pressure right where Mark feels it the most.

"That's it, baby," Johnny says, and he increases the pace, until Mark's making startled, helpless noises, staring down at his dick and trying to process that he's not already coming, just leaking copiously. "Come on my cock."

"You feel so good," Mark groans out, as Johnny snarls and surges forward, planting his fists on the mattress. It bends Mark so much his lower half isn't really on the bed anymore, and Johnny's nailing Mark even deeper. "Oh my God, Johnny. You're gonna make me—"

Johnny's still not close enough to kiss, but Mark uses his free hand to grip his bicep, wanting to touch him, wishing he could be blanketed in Johnny.

When he finally starts to come with his hand wrapped around his dick, it makes him sob, and his eyes well and blur with tears at the intensity. Mark shoots and shoots, splashing high on his chest. Even as he writhes, Johnny knows he's not done and keeps fucking him precisely to force more spurts out of him.

All at once, it's over, and Mark's a mess, his thighs trembling, his mouth dry with the air he's been gulping, and his insides feel on the wrong side of sensitive.

"Almost there," Johnny promises.

Mark clumsily wipes moisture from his eyes to see him clearly, to watch him throw his head back and bury himself in Mark as he comes. He looks like he's coming as hard as Mark just did, wracked with it, noises Mark's never heard before spilling from his open mouth.

Fuck, he thinks he can feel the heat of Johnny's come through the condom, and the idea makes him tense with desire—too much desire for his body, which feels wrung out like a rag.

Johnny slumps forward and braces himself over Mark with his hand planted by Mark's head. His breathing is ragged, labored as his cock twitches inside of Mark, folded nearly in half underneath him. Johnny cups his jaw, and the kiss he leans in for is… gentle, almost shy, like Johnny's unsure of his footing now that they've gone all the way.

Johnny moves slowly, gentling Mark's legs back down to the mattress at the same time, but it still feels like too much when he pulls out. He holds the condom in place before he unceremoniously tosses it into the bin next to his bedside table. Mark clenches around nothing, feels numb in a way he knows will lead to general soreness later, and already mourns the loss of the feeling of Johnny filling him up.

They kiss again for what feels like hours, though Mark's pretty sure it's only been about ten minutes, long enough for their breathing to calm.

He's languid and sated while Johnny whispers things into Mark's skin, like "You were so fucking good, baby," and Mark is overwhelmed by it, sure, but not in the way that makes him want to run away.

Mark's never been with anyone like this before—has never felt this secure in his own skin, this safe in someone's arms. He doesn't have to scurry away or cut the afterglow short because of a tight schedule or his own feelings of inadequacy. He doesn't have to shower in a hotel bathroom after clumsy, impersonal sex and make terrible small talk while he waits for his manager to pick him up. He doesn't have to feel like a person pretending at intimacy.

It's a lot, to live his life one way for so long and to understand the subtle wrongness of it by the contrast of how _right_ this feels. Mark buries his fingers in the fine, short hair on the back of Johnny's neck while Johnny's tongue traces over Mark's lips, and he thinks he could cry just from this. He's holding Johnny close, but it doesn't feel like he'll ever get close enough.

That should be terrifying. It's only been a couple of months since Johnny stepped back into his life, or rather, since Mark made his reappearance in Johnny's, but if there was any doubt before tonight that he can't be without Johnny again, he sure as hell has none now.

When Johnny disentangles himself from Mark to go to the bathroom, Mark misses his presence immediately, and when Johnny returns with two wet towels and a dry one, leaning in to kiss Mark again like he can't get enough, his hand working the moist cloth over Mark's belly to clean him up, Mark glows with the affection and attention he's given.

The clock reads nearly three in the morning by the time Johnny turns the lights out and curls his entire body around Mark's, tangling their fingers together.

🍂🍂🍂

"Okay, listen, I'm pretty sure people have cooled it over the weekend, but I'm still worried about you getting harassed on the way out," Johnny says.

Mark struggles to focus on what Johnny's saying because Johnny is in a nice grey suit and trousers and his hair is combed back. He's seen Johnny dressed for work in selcas and the occasional video or video call, but nothing could have prepared him for seeing Johnny dressed up like this in the flesh, smelling his cologne, watching him adjust his cufflinks since he's going into Brooklyn today for an important meeting. He looks so criminally good, Mark thinks Johnny would have slipped right into the _Irregular_ Office teasers they did years back.

"Dude, isn't there a back exit to this place?" Mark asks, thinking of how he and the members have gotten in and out of various buildings under the radar, including their own.

Johnny pauses in tugging his shirt cuff. "Huh, actually, you're right," Johnny says, realization dawning.

"So I'll go through there, get my mask and shades on, and blend into the crowd," Mark says, chipper at the prospect of getting out again now that most of the dust has settled.

"Someone's excited about cosplaying Jason Bourne again," Johnny says, on the edge of laughter.

"I always wanted to be a secret agent," Mark says, shrugging Johnny's padded jacket on, something Johnny insisted he do. "Fans pretty much know your clothes at this point," Johnny said, which was a fair assumption.

They're standing side by side in front of the mirrored door on Johnny's cabinet now, Johnny smoothing his clothes out while Mark pulls on Johnny's nondescript black beanie on, mask in place. Mark's face is only just a sliver of his eyes, and he's putting shades on when he gets out anyway.

"You good?" Johnny says, slinging his arm around Mark's shoulders and pressing a quick peck to where Mark's temple is at, hidden under the knit cloth.

"A little sore, but yeah, let's go," Mark says, taking his steps gingerly. He doesn't miss the smug look that Johnny has on his face, or the smile that he tries to suppress at the mention of the very real, very fantastic sex they had the night before.

Johnny rattles off a list of places that Mark can go to if he wants while they make their way down the stairs. In just a quick phone call, Johnny wheedled the access code for the service entrance at the back of the building from the super, and he reminds Mark to make sure he has it to get back in.

Mark waggles his phone at him. "Your text didn't magically disappear," he says, shaking his head. Johnny might be as paranoid as he is.

"You text me or call me if anything happens, okay? Like if you think you're being followed or whatever. You need me to rescue you, I'll come by with the car. Or get a taxi if it can't wait."

Despite Mark's initial fear in the immediate hours after the shit hit the fan, he's feeling much calmer about everything now. He's got a plan to sneak out and sneak back in; he's as layered up as he could be; and Johnny hasn't mentioned any sasaengs trying to get access to the building, so it's possible they don't have his address. Mark's as confident as he's going to get; years of uncomfortable brushes with fans and scrutiny have at least given him a dogged instinct to pick himself back up again and hold his chin up high. Even if said chin is concealed, along with the rest of his face.

Mark wishes they could walk to the subway together, that he could get shown around the neighborhood of Johnny's PR firm, but for now, Mark will have to make do with being shown around virtually.

They part ways at the back exit, the door giving after a push, and then Mark's stepping out into the crisp morning air. The cramped side street is certainly not the most scenic route, but his objective for the day is mostly to explore on his own. He heads toward the busy street corner and hails a cab to save him from the walk, asking to be taken to St. Patrick's Cathedral on 5th.

Mark recognizes that there is some massive cognitive dissonance here in wanting to visit a church when he can still feel how sore he is from having engaged in what the church considers one of the most immoral acts committed by man, but somehow, Mark is compelled, like this is necessary.

The traffic stretches his twenty-minute ride into thirty, but it gives him a lot of time to think, a lot of time to watch the city go by as he tries to cobble together some answers to the big questions still floating around in his head.

He tips the driver extra generously before he steps out onto the busy street, a mix of tourists and people in suits obscuring his path toward the entrance of the church, its tall, bronze doors open and welcoming.

Mark takes a moment to crane his neck up and take in the beauty of the church's spires, its pointed architecture so glaringly different from the backdrop of chrome buildings that surround it. He snaps a photo for himself, then makes his way in through the entrance, genuflecting next to a pew before taking a seat.

It's humbling to be here, to look around at the scattered number of people kneeling with their hands clasped in front of them. The stained-glass windows are overwhelming in their color, the sunlight filtering through and bathing the interiors of the church in paintings of Jesus' life.

There's a calm here that makes emotion well up inside Mark's throat, boil over from his eyes, and he takes to his knees with his head bowed down. He has a vague recollection of having prayed for help right after he got home from his bender, and he sends a prayer of thanks for having gotten through it.

 _Lord,_ Mark thinks, keeping his head low, his hand over his forehead as tears begin to fall. _You've never led me to something that was too great for me to get through. You've given me so much by way of my career, my family, my brothers. I hadn't known what talking to Johnny again meant, but I know that you wouldn't have made it happen if it didn't mean something great._

It feels fated. All of it. Fated that he saw those comments about Johnny while he was on VLive; fated that his attempt at reaching out to him coincided with Mark's contract needing to be renewed; fated that somehow he ended up here, in New York City, to discover himself in ways that were beyond the realm of possibility if he stayed in Seoul.

All Mark has right now is gratitude, and his shoulders feel the lightest they've felt in what seems like years, even when he still has more questions than answers. It doesn't stop him, though, from throwing in one small request for clarity, ending his prayer with it before he sits back down to simply revel in the silence.

He spends a good half hour there, and while no epiphanies come to him in the presence of the Lord, he smiles to himself still, while he snaps a few more photos of the interiors to remember them by. He feels at peace, like the way through is being shown to him one step at a time somehow.

After he leaves the church, Mark makes his way through the city on foot, following Google Maps now that his soreness has mostly left him. He's got shades on, on top of his mask and his beanie, and he shoves his hands into the deep pockets of Johnny's jacket to protect from the cold.

He buys two breakfast bagels and a bottle of water from a food truck on his way to Bryant Park, managing to find a table and a metal seat free for him once he gets there. People are scattered in the area, some seated alone on their phones, others in small clusters, all bundled up in their scarves and fleece while they talk animatedly.

Mark's a little in love with his city, and he pulls his notebook out from his backpack, feeling the familiar bubbling of inspiration hitting him. His hands shake as he starts to write new lyrics out, words that will either make it to a song for NCT, or, maybe, possibly, a song on his own LP.

He writes about freedom and freefall and the instantaneous click-burn of realizing that you want something with the entirety of your being to the point of recklessness. Mark laughs to himself as he scratches out lyrics, realizing that he's never felt this invigorated about his writing before.

Words begin to fill the pages of his journal that's gone for far too long without any new material. Mark writes something about New York City, something about Johnny Suh. Something about taking the opportunities that life presents you with.

It's only about an hour later that Mark sees his screen light up, and he feels himself flush when he sees the preview.

 **[Johnny Suh 10:01 a.m.]  
** _> Hey Markie, you doing okay?_

 **[Me 10:01 a.m.]  
** _> Hey, I'm good :) just writing. Im in Bryant!_

 **[Johnny Suh 10:02 a.m.]  
** _> Have you eaten? Have you seen any strange stalkers or had to dodge any fans _

**[Me 10:02 a.m.]  
** _> Yes, I have, and no, I haven't  
_ _> I'm ok Johnny  
_ _> How's work? Are they kicking your ass for having been gone so long?_

 **[Johnny Suh 10:03 a.m.]  
** _> Nah, I mean I was still working even if I wasn't coming in, don't worry  
_ _> Okay, I'll see you at home  
_ _> I mean uh  
_ _> You knwo what I mean  
_ _> Haha  
_ _> Know *_

Mark bites his lower lip at Johnny's little slip-up. His face pulls into a smile that he doesn't even try to fight anymore.

 **[Me 10:03 a.m.]  
**_> See you, dude_ 😊

🍂🍂🍂

Mark passes the rest of the day popping into small stores that sell trinkets and some vintage jewelry for his parents. He steps into a candy shop and picks up gourmet candy for the managers before he makes his way to Jaques Torres for some hot chocolate and dessert in the afternoon.

He's in the middle of going over the lyrics he's worked out earlier when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Mark's on Do Not Disturb but for a short list of contacts still, so it's with some trepidation that he tugs his phone free.

It's Mr. Kim.

Mark wishes he wasn't in a coffee shop, a public place, for this. He gulps, reminds himself he can't put this off and that he needs to be an adult about things, and answers the call.

"Mark-ssi, I'm glad I caught you," Mr. Kim says, barking in his usual loud way down the line. Mark's learned to accept it as one of his quirks, but it doesn't help his pounding heart. "I have news."

"Oh, that's… good," Mark says.

"It's good and bad. I'll have Hae send you the details in the morning"—Mark realizes it's criminally late in Seoul, and that Mr. Kim must have called outside of business hours for whatever reason—"but the long and short of it is that SM's agreed to the majority of your terms."

Mark swallows some coffee, a sip he took out of anxiety and the need to do _something_ while Mr. Kim imparted the _good and bad_ news. He thinks he can guess what the bad news is.

"What didn't they agree to?" Mark asks, instead of blurting out _They won't budge on the leader thing, will they?_

"For starters, the percentages aren't where I want them. They really don't want to go up, I suppose, but we did get some movement."

Mark couldn't care less about money. He swallows that thought down with another fitful sip. He's going to run out of his drink at this rate. "Sure. I kinda thought that one would be hard."

"Well, you'll be making about double what you do now," Mr. Kim says, and he sounds _irritated_ about it, like it's a paltry amount, while Mark's suddenly short of breath and gripping onto the little table he's seated at, facing away from the other customers. "And I can go back and try for more, but if I'm honest with you, the rejection of our figures tells me we're at the end of the road with that."

"Right," Mark agrees, like he understands this beyond _money, and so much more of it_.

"I know your big sticking point was creative control, and they gave that with a few caveats. They want to pick some features for your solo album, and the title track."

"That's… I can live with that," Mark says, still dizzy, unable to believe what he's hearing. If the solo's a go, then—

"And Mark-ssi, they want you to act as co-leader." He imparts this gravely, like Mark's going to fly off the handle, and not like a huge weight slowly crushing him into the ground, pulverizing his insides, isn't abruptly gone.

Mark didn't want to lead, but he _really_ didn't want to lead by himself. It was his worst fear.

If it's not on him, if he's not the sole person responsible for the members, if he's sharing the burden, he can deal with it. Fuck, he thinks he's going to cry. His eyes sting, and his breathing is labored.

"You can suggest two options for the other leader spot," Mr. Kim continues, "but they want final say."

"Oh," Mark chokes. He clears his throat. He doesn't think he could swallow more coffee. "Honestly, that's… fine."

There's a pause on Mr. Kim's end, but he continues undaunted. "And they did agree to off-site housing, but there's a whole list of rules I don't want to fall asleep reading you. That will be sent over with the rest of it."

"Thanks," Mark says. "I just… I'm processing, I'm sorry."

"Take your time, son. We don't need to answer them right now. No one's in the office. I'm on the way back from dinner, so I thought I'd call you and tell you myself."

Mark almost laughs. He doesn't spend a lot of time with lawyers and business people when he doesn't have to for work, but he does know what a dinner ending this late means. Mr. Kim sounds remarkably solid for someone who is probably too drunk to stand.

"What I need to know from you is if you're satisfied with these concessions or if you want me to push them. I'll follow your lead either way. Let Hae know as soon as you're certain."

"Sir, I'm sure now," Mark says, and he is. He really only cared about the leader thing and the solo; everything else is a boon. "Um, if you think it's fair, and all good, I'm… We can move forward like this."

Mr. Kim laughs so loudly Mark winces and pulls his phone away from his ear for a second. "Oh, I don't think it's _fair_ , but I'm not sure how much blood I can squeeze out of these bastards. All right, then, I'll tell SM to move forward with the contract."

"Um, do I…" Mark hesitates, his other gigantic issue hanging over his head. "When should I fly in to sign? When do you think I need to be back by?"

There's another pause, this one more loaded than the last, but Mark can't read it. "The company will likely have the contract ready in a day or two," he says. "When you fly home is your business."

"No, I mean, for the meeting?"

Another bark of laughter. "Mark-ssi, you don't need to have a meeting to sign a contract. Ah, they like to have their little shows, make everything official, but a digital signature is just as binding."

Mark remembers the cold conference room, the specially made deck they made him, the way he felt like a kid being catered to by professionals. The realization that it never needed to happen, that he could have signed the contract digitally at the gym or something, without any fanfare, makes him slump over with a combination of amusement and weariness.

"Okay, I guess... I'll sign it digitally."

"Great, great. Well, I'm about home, but email Hae if you have any questions or if you change your mind."

"Sure. I hope, um, I hope you sleep well?" Mark offers, totally off his game and unused to handling attorneys, especially ones like Mr. Kim. He mostly shut up and stuck to small talk around the old one. He never fielded late-night, drunken contract talks. "Sorry for making you deal with all of this in the middle of the night."

"I'm a hearty man, Mark-ssi, don't worry about me," he laughs, and then hangs up.

🍂🍂🍂

At first, Mark is frozen. It's clear to him that he can't sit in the cafe until the end of time, but Johnny won't be home from work yet, and he has to figure out how to tell Johnny about this before he sees him anyway. Mark's brain keeps shying away from it, from verbal confirmation that the main reason Mark used to justify staying here is going up in smoke.

While Mark extended his stay to wait for the heat of the scandal to cool, over the last two days, he's realized the scandal was never as terrible as he presumed. It's certainly not going to change significantly if he goes home, but it might intensify if he stays here and gets spotted again, or if he fails to show his face in Korea and post things of him being normal and not drunk. If he keeps avoiding his responsibilities and pretending his life is here in New York.

Now, with the contract stuff nearly in order, he's out of excuses. He's got to go home—no, to Johnny's apartment, which is not Mark's home—and tell Johnny that their time is almost up.

Mark ends up walking the streets again, blind to the sights, nearly knocked over a few times by other pedestrians. He doesn't know where he's going, and he's screaming inside his own head, with questions and words he can't exactly spew at the whole of Manhattan, just trying to go about its business.

He fumbles for his phone, thinking of calling Ten, but he sees Taeyong's name instead and knows what he has to do. Taeyong's his brother, and his leader, and he's been letting Mark get away with absolute murder while he figures his shit out. There's no one else who deserves a say in Mark's plans more than Yong.

It rings twice, and Mark worries he's waking him, but Taeyong sounds wide awake when he answers, probably up late gaming again.

"Mark-yah, hi! I wondered when I'd hear from you. Are you well?"

"I'm— I'm good, hyung, thank you." Mark darts into a bodega and keeps his voice very low so as not to be annoying or overheard. "I needed to talk to you about something really quick."

"Oh! Hold on, let me…" Mark hears clattering on a keyboard, then Taeyong getting out of his chair and flopping onto his bed, sighing. "Okay, I'm ready."

"The contract is going to be signed soon," he says, pretending to be very interested in an assortment of chips. "They're gonna let me pick a co-leader."

"Really? Shit, I'm so glad. I was worried—"

"Me too, hyung. I just... I just need to know. You need me there, right? You need me home?" Mark's voice shakes, and he ducks his head when someone walks past him. Fuck, he needs to find better spots in this teeming city to have intense conversations. This isn't working for him.

"Is that what you're worried about?" Taeyong says, with an incredulous laugh. He sounds so warm, so sincere, that Mark's immediately pinged by it. "Listen to me, you come home when you're ready! Don't worry about me and the members. We're having a really boring time, honestly. Nothing exciting is happening."

Taeyong wants Mark to believe everything's fine, but the fact that he's lying to Mark could not be clearer. He never sounds this easy; he never laughs quite like that. And honestly, Mark already knew, before he even dialed, what the answer was. He knew Taeyong's enormous worries about leaving the group and enlisting (and Mark, awesome brother that he is, left him to deal with it on his own and actually was pretty shit about it first).

Mark has to spend as much time with his brothers as he can before Taeyong leaves them and everything shifts fundamentally. He owes it to the band, and to himself, to see this through and be a part of holding them all together.

He needs to spend time with Johnny too. He _needs_ it. He's never felt like this before, and he can't imagine giving it up. Putting it on a shelf and hiding it away.

But what Mark truly can't do is live two lives at once. He never could.

"I'm coming home, hyung. Soon," Mark promises, despite how much it hurts to say.

Taeyong's quiet for a minute, and when he speaks again, the easy confidence is gone from his voice. "Please don't do that for me," he says softly.

"I'm doing it—for all of us. And my career. I need to deal with the mess I made."

"What about Johnny?" Taeyong asks.

"I don't… I don't know, hyung. I don't want to leave him. I kinda feel like I can't, haha," Mark tries to laugh, breaking down in the middle of this bodega while the owner watches him from the counter. "But I know I was always going to have to leave. It was always a vacation."

"I'm sorry, Mark-yah," Taeyong says. "I just want you to be happy."

Mark selects a bag of chips at random and forces himself to stand straighter, to not give this burden to Taeyong before he's had time to sit with it, to talk to Johnny about it. He got the confirmation he needed from Taeyong, even if Taeyong tried to keep the truth of how much he's suffering on his own from him. Even if Taeyong tried to be kind.

"I am, hyung," Mark says, and he sounds small despite his best efforts, cracked with emotion. "I'm the happiest I've been in a long time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🐍: We definitely thought y'all deserved, uh, a truckload of intimacy after waiting for like 90k. Thank you for your patience, hahaha.
> 
> In case you didn't get the tweet Mark sent to the SuperM chat, [here's the context!](https://mellonjin.tumblr.com/post/182123891215/remember-when-a-photo-of-taemin-vaping-next-to)
> 
> Also, I think I pointed it out earlier, but our representation of SM is based on conjecture and pure fiction; we have no idea what they're actually like, but boy did they make for a good obstacle for Mark to overcome!!!
> 
> Only one more chapter to go! (And I think it bears repeating that we do have an angst with a happy ending tag…..)
> 
> As usual, you can follow us on Twitter: 🐍 is [@sneakethsnek](https://twitter.com/sneakethsnek) and 🐱 is [@johnnyseo_paws](https://twitter.com/johnnyseo_paws).


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🐱: Sneaky came to me with this idea in July, and we had no clue back then just how much this story would grow. The reception to it has been wonderful, and I can't believe that five months later, we're here now at the end. It's been immensely fun to imagine this universe with sneaky and with all of you, and I sincerely hope that you liked this not-so-little story of ours about discovery and rediscovery. 
> 
> To my buddy through this entire ride: we're unbuckling from the seats now, but if you ever wanna get on a bigger, wilder fuckin Six Flags ride, you know how to reach me. ❤️ Thank you for trusting me with this story, and for working through shit with me when our ideas didn't exactly match up at first! 
> 
> 🐍: First of all, Mon needs several odes written in her honor for putting up with me and my pedantic, control-freak suggestions, ten-minute-long voice notes, and for generally being the sweetest, coolest, most talented co-author of all time. Seriously. While this fic didn't give us as many problems as you'd assume something so long would, it was still challenging and occasionally stressful, and I would not trade the experience of getting through it with Mon for anything. <3 
> 
> Second, huge thanks to Tay, who was a trooper through this monster. Tay's already my sister, I'm ride or die for her, but nothing proves love and loyalty like betaing a huge fic for a fandom you're not even in. Thank you, bro!!!!
> 
> Third, OMG, the readers! I can't get over the reception this fic's gotten, how invested and enthusiastic and truly kind everyone has been. I dearly hope the ending lives up to your expectations.

By the time he hears Johnny's keys in the door, Mark's downed two cups of chamomile tea and had some time to get his thoughts in order.

He doesn't want to ruin what time they have left together by calling attention to the fact that it's ending, that it has to end, but he also can't keep it a secret and spring it on Johnny. _Surprise, I'm leaving. Do you think I could try sucking your dick again to make sure I like it as much as I think I do?_

So Mark pastes on a smile and deliberately relaxes his shoulders, and the sight of Johnny only slightly rumpled by a long day at work and a subway ride in his sleek suit almost physically hurts him.

How the fuck Mark didn't recognize the flutters of appreciation when he saw the selcas—the _shirtless selcas_ —Johnny sent him, he'll never know.

"Hey," he says, and Johnny's squinting down at his mail but looks up, his eyes flashing with happiness.

"Hey," he says back, easily, and drops all of his stuff on the kitchen table. He heads to Mark on the couch, while Mark forces himself not to ball up his hands. He makes himself breathe evenly.

They both knew this was coming. He's doing what he has to do: nothing more, and nothing less.

"How was work?" Mark sounds pretty normal; definitely not like someone who had a meltdown in a bodega a few hours earlier.

But Johnny, at the edge of the couch, looks at Mark and frowns. "What's wrong?" he demands, and sits on the arm, taking off his suit jacket and tossing it onto his armchair like it doesn't matter that he'll wrinkle it. "Did you hear from your lawyer? Was it bad news? Wait, did someone spot you?"

The fact that Johnny's on alert for something being wrong when all Mark said was four words tells him he's as shitty of an actor as ever. Or that Johnny's particularly good at reading him. Mark works his jaw and braces his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. "Nah, no one recognized me. I got, uh, good news, actually. Apparently. The contract should be finished in the next couple days."

He texted his parents, and Jong-hoon, and the various group chats, that he was only waiting to sign. The flurry of texts congratulating him made him feel better, but at the same time he felt guilty for making them worry about the whole thing in the first place. Happy with a chaser of guilt seems to be Mark's thing, these days.

Johnny's popped open the two top buttons of his dress shirt, and despite the fact that he showered and put on cologne many hours ago, he still smells so damn good. Mark wants to lean against him, feel Johnny's strong fingers work at his neck.

"Okay, that _is_ good news," Johnny says slowly, removing one of his cufflinks and slipping it into his pocket. "Are you not happy about it? Could Mr. Kim not get what you want?" His inquisitive expression turns back into a frown. "Is the company making you—"

"No, no, I got it. I mean, yeah, I'm gonna co-lead, but that's okay. I kind of expected it. But I got the solo, creative control, and a… I think the technical term is a fuckload of money."

After a pause, Johnny asks, "Then why aren't we celebrating? I've got wine, I've got… I think I have champagne somewhere." Despite the words, he's still perched on the couch arm, peering down at Mark like he's a puzzle to solve. "Hey, come on, this is what you wanted, right?"

Mark huffs, a croak of a laugh coming out of him. He stares down at his jean-clad legs, not able to look at Johnny when he says, "Sure, yeah, it is, but… I gotta leave now, dude. Or, like, soon. The contract is almost done, the scandal stuff isn't getting any worse, and I… I gotta leave."

The touch makes him jolt, the ticklish brush of Johnny's fingers at Mark's nape. Then he digs in, the same massage Mark was craving earlier, so exact about where Mark's stress-knotted neck needs attention that Mark's mouth pops open on a silent gasp. "I know," he says, low. "I know you're leaving. We always knew Cinderella's carriage was turning back into a pumpkin at midnight." He tugs on Mark's earlobe, gentle and fond, and when Mark looks up to meet his gaze, it's soft but serious. "We just got lucky with some extra time."

Mark swallows heavy. He doesn't know what he expected, but not this calm, kind resignation. Maybe he assumed Johnny would make one last attempt at convincing Mark the company won't ever treat him right, that he should keep considering his options.

Or maybe that's what Mark wanted Johnny to do, to give him more straws to grasp at so he could rationalize staying, because as it is, Mark's played all the cards in his hands.

"I've got all these tabs of different flights back home," Mark admits, "but I can't… I couldn't pull the trigger. It didn't seem right to do it without talking to you."

Johnny slides off the couch arm and onto the couch itself, and Mark bumps over to give him more room, but they're pressed close, so close Mark can feel the muscle in Johnny's thigh against his. "That's good that you waited, because I can get the day off of work to drive you to the airport." He slips his arm around Mark's waist and tugs him in, and Mark goes limp against him from the unspoken permission.

Not that Mark needed Johnny's permission to leave, but he's the only other person who knows what Mark's going through, what they've been discovering together in this little apartment, the new dynamic Mark's barely started to grasp. Johnny knowing he has to leave, respecting Mark's call, and still wanting to drive him to the airport soothes some of the ten thousand different and turbulent emotions he's been feeling.

"I guess," Mark says after a long moment of matching his breathing to Johnny's, "I guess I just pick a flight."

Johnny says nothing, but he presses a kiss to Mark's temple. Mark pulls his phone out of his pocket and selects the first-class ticket from JFK to ICN that doesn't put him in the crush of weekend travel and rates. "Is Wednesday evening good?"

"Yeah, Mark, it's fine."

Mark clicks through to purchase and tries to get it done with as fast as possible, glad yet again for auto fill. When he gets to the confirmation page, he sighs, reminds himself that this amount of money is a drop in a bucket compared to what he already has in savings and will be making in the near future, and presses the final button.

"That was mad anticlimactic," Mark says, still staring down at his phone even now that the deed's done. "When I bought the ticket to come here, it felt like… I don't know. Like I was stepping into some new world. Breaking the rules a little."

"You were also kinda drunk, bro," Johnny teases him, which actually knocks a laugh out of Mark's tight chest.

"Oh yeah, fuck. I was." The memory is fonder now that Mark has a better idea of why he was so damn excited and nervous to see Johnny in person. Honestly, he's just not a vacation person; as busy as Johnny's tried to keep him busy with tourist stuff, Mark's been missing how hectic company schedules could get and the familiarity of the dorm and his favorite delivery places. The appeal of coming to New York was more about Johnny Suh than the food and the museums and the skateparks.

"I could still grab that champagne," Johnny offers.

Mark shakes his head. "I'm good. Plus, uh…" He turns to look at the bared hollow of Johnny's throat, the column of neck he's been wanting to mark up for a few days now and still hasn't gotten around to. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to make the most of the time we've got left, yeah?"

Mark feels Johnny's arm go slack around him, then the burble of suppressed laughter. "I just got home," he says incredulously. "I haven't even showered, dude. I probably smell like stress sweat and the subway."

"You super don't." Mark confirms this by leaning in and taking a playful sniff. Yeah, just as good up close.

Johnny laughs, an edge of disbelief to it, and Mark's gut clenches with the sound. He's declared an end to this. There's a finite number of times he'll hear it, feel it, with Johnny pressed close to him. There always was, but Mark's finally feeling that now.

"It's not even two days, Johnny," he says seriously, aware that the mood's dipping into tension again but unable to stop himself. "Until I go."

When Johnny disentangles them, Mark nearly groans because he knows Johnny's going to do the thing where he wants to make eye contact and have a meaningful conversation. Mark would much rather keep sitting side by side and absolutely not looking at each other. If they could do this with the lights off, all the better. But he goes with it, making careful eye contact with Johnny.

"I meant what I said before. I'm not leaving your life unless you kick my ass out the door."

"Kinda hard to do that when we'll be on different continents, but okay."

"Metaphorically, then. I'm not making the same mistakes I did when I quit, okay? You're too important to me. I'm not _metaphorically_ leaving you," Johnny says, lips twitching for a moment, "and NYC will always be a safe place for you to land. Always. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it."

The heaviness in Mark isn't exactly gone, but it's abated some with the reminder. A part of him will probably always be stuck in the silence Johnny left behind, but the rest of him is grown up and ready to handle things like a man and not a confused kid. He came here to fix things with Johnny, and while he busted Pandora's box wide open in the process, he does trust that Johnny means it. That he won't vanish from Mark's phone the minute Mark's in another time zone.

"I was serious about making the most of things, though." Mark leans in, cupping Johnny's jaw, a clock ticking somewhere in his head. " _Two days_ ," he says, and dips in for a kiss, a sigh of relief passing between their mouths when it connects.

If he's got less than two days with Johnny, then they need to stop wasting time and get creative.

"I don't even get dinner first, huh?" Johnny mumbles against his mouth, smiling, already slipping his palms up the back of Mark's sweater, hands searing against Mark's bare skin.

"Man, you want a blowjob _and_ food? Don't get greedy," Mark says, fumbling for Johnny's belt, Johnny's laugh buzzing his lips and tongue.

🍂🍂🍂

They're sprawled out on the couch a good hour later, Mark lying on top of Johnny, the pair of them naked and sweat-soaked and sated, when Johnny cards his fingers through Mark's hair and says, "So, we have your last full day tomorrow."

Mark closes his eyes momentarily. He's been trying not to fixate on how the minutes that trickle by feel like he's watching an hourglass with sand just… pouring down. He managed to forget about it while he was trying not to choke around Johnny's dick touching the back of his throat, but unfortunately—or fortunately, for Mark's sore jaw—all of that distraction is gone now.

"Yeah," Mark says, because there's nothing else he _can_ say. He runs his hand down Johnny's side, smiling at the shiver he feels under him. Johnny isn't ticklish anywhere, so it's nice to elicit any sort of response.

"Would—would you like to go on a date with me?" Johnny asks, and Mark peels his cheek from Johnny's chest so he can rest his hands on it and look up at Johnny, who's got his head propped up on a throw pillow, his expression a little shy, a little hopeful. "I don't know what else you have planned or wanna see in this city, but if you'd be willing, I'd love to take you out tomorrow night. Wine you, dine you, the works. If it's—"

"Yes," Mark says, this fizzy, giddy sort of excitement rumbling up. "Yeah, dude, I'd love to go on a date with you."

Mark readjusts so that he's straddling Johnny, sitting in the spot right above Johnny's dick so that he can brace his hands on either side of Johnny's head and lean in to kiss him. Because he can. While he can.

"What did you have in mind?" Mark asks after they pull away for air, which admittedly takes a while. Mark's never really been much for straight-up making out, mainly because most the people he's been with were just as inexperienced as him. Kissing Johnny makes his toes curl, makes his entire body bend into Johnny's, like if he could melt into Johnny, he would, which is a strange image but captures what he feels.

"Mmm, I have several ideas, but if you're willing to let me surprise you, do you think you could roll with that?" The expression Johnny wears looks so fond, Mark wants to whimper under it. "It'll be covert, Mr. Secret Agent, don't worry. We'll be safe."

Mark smiles down at Johnny, his entire body still boneless from the mind-blowing reciprocal blowjob Johnny gave him just a few minutes prior. His mind's still in the gutter and the fact that Johnny swallowed, but he's got enough brain cells to string together a coherent reply of, "Okay, take me on an adventure, big guy," before Johnny pulls him down with a hand behind his neck, sealing the deal with another kiss.

🍂🍂🍂

Mark wakes up to a notification on his lock screen that an email from Mr. Kim is waiting for him. Even though he knows the contents already, from the information his assistant sent over, Mark's heart rate ratchets up.

He feels like he's had so many moments on this trip that have made him freeze over, made him feel like his entire life was teetering on the edge of something, but he sits up in bed and sees Johnny fast asleep next to him, his expression peaceful and endearingly unflattering with his mouth hanging open like that, but it's grounding. Mark squeezes Johnny's bicep gently and then opens the email, clicking on the link to an encrypted page that details the rest of his career for the next five years.

First he scans through the stipulations, most of which he's well aware of already. A few times he has to go back to the email and read Mr. Kim's notes, breaking everything down from legalese, or at least trying to; it's still pretty wordy and involved. Everything seems to be in order, though; there's nothing in the hefty contract or Mr. Kim's email that tells Mark he shouldn't sign.

He takes a steadying breath before commencing the signing process, initialing where he's directed to by the website or program—whatever it is that he had to answer a heck of a lot of security questions to access. Then there's scribbling his signature with the pad of his finger.

It takes so long, with so many initials and signatures to click through, that the end of the document comes as a surprise. When he hits submit, his brain waits for something—something big, something monumental—but much like booking his tickets the night before, nothing happens. The bed does not cave in and swallow him whole. His phone doesn't explode in his hands. He's just sent to a confirmation page, and there's a promise a PDF will be sent to his email, as well as stored on the server.

Well. That's done with. Mark signed away the next five years of his life, and he didn't even have to get out of Johnny's bed to do it.

Only a little over three weeks prior, Mark was sitting in his dorm room, tipsy and in shock over what a leap he'd taken. Three weeks feels like three years. That Mark Lee couldn't begin to imagine the things he's done with Johnny, let alone the things he's done at the risk of his own career. Kissing in public, missing his flight, the drinking scandal. That Mark had no idea what was in store.

Mark lies awake for lack of something better to do, but it's only a matter of time before Johnny's up too, in time to shower and make them both a breakfast before he heads out for a day of work ("I'll see what I can do about cutting it short," at which Mark shook his head vehemently and replied, "Dude, no, don't do that for my sake" until Johnny sighed and admitted he really did have a lot of work to do). They're both sleepy, or at least Johnny is slow to wake up and Mark's half in his head, thinking about the past few weeks and the days to come, the limbo of now hazy until Johnny puts a steaming mug of coffee into his hands.

"Have a good day," Johnny says like an admonishment, like he suspects something's up, and that's when Mark startles and realizes he never even told him.

"Oh, I… They sent me the contract this morning. I already signed it."

Johnny pauses in the middle of putting his oat milk back into the fridge, but then he grabs his Tupperware container full of snacks and secures it in his bag. "That's… a big deal, man. Congratulations." He tilts his head, and Mark blows over the top of the mug for something to do. "You should have woke me up," he says, gentler, and Mark shrugs, wincing at the burn of almost too-bitter fresh coffee across his tongue, then down his throat as he hurriedly swallows.

"It wasn't really a big thing. Just had to initial like fifty pages, and bam, done."

Mark's not sure he's selling the experience, and he's not really sure how he feels about it. Relieved? Excited? Preemptively exhausted by the knowledge of how much work is in store for him and the members? Regretful? Possibly all of it, to the point where his brain's given up on trying to process individual emotions and has turned to soup in his skull.

He offers Johnny a small smile, and Johnny at least stops peering at him.

"Well, we're celebrating tonight," Johnny says firmly. He's not dressed to the nines today, more business casual with a turtleneck and coat, and it's softened him, made him look less like a PR shark and more like a handsome young man going out for a stroll.

"Sure," Mark agrees. "Sorry my mood's a little…" He jerks his chin, like that expresses anything at all, but Johnny gets him, same as always.

"You've had a wild couple of days. Take it easy today, yeah? I'll text you later."

He walks Johnny to the front door to see him off, remembers he's still holding his coffee mug and could fully accidentally upturn it on Johnny saying goodbye, and jogs back into the kitchen to leave it on the counter. Johnny's smiling as he kisses him, brief and warm, the smallest flicker of tongue before he's gone with a dramatic whirl of his unbuttoned trenchcoat.

The taste of Johnny is still on Mark's lips when he settles on the couch and checks his phone, and maybe that's some layer of protection against the realization that he's got an email from _Lee Soo-man._ Or perhaps Mark's soup-brain can't deal with yet another emotion right now.

Mark's rarely the type to procrastinate, unless it's homework, so he opens the email right away and stares at it, unseeing, though it's all of a paragraph long. He takes a couple of tries to read it and actually comprehend it.

Mark guesses this is some sort of congratulations, but really it feels like an icy-cold scolding wrapped up in a bow.

_Mark-ssi, I'm so glad we were able to work things out. You're a crucial part of the SM family and the future of SM Entertainment. I know we will put all of this unpleasantness behind us and go on to do great things together._

He doesn't know what to do with himself for a minute, and he knows there's no way in hell he can write a reply to that without sounding like a pod person, so Mark finishes his coffee and stares at his reflection in Johnny's TV. It stares back, frowning in glasses and some impressive bedhead.

On impulse, he screencaps the email and sends it to the 127 and Dream group chats—including the one with Taeil, who has been around more the last few days, as though Mark's scandal summoned him and his protective streak.

Dream's reaction is basically Chenle laughing very hard in gif form, because he fears absolutely no one, neither God nor Lee Soo-man, and Jeno and Jaemin tag-teaming him with fussing congratulations. Jisung is AWOL, but Mark expects something similar from him soon enough. It's nice to know everyone has his back.

127's response is far more chaotic. It's a little satisfying to watch everyone devolve into absolute chaos, including Taeyong, who was apparently in the middle of cooking dinner. After a few minutes, though, they get it together and stop sending stickers and gifs at a breakneck pace.

**[Ty 7:22 a.m.]  
** _> What are you going to say???_

**[Yuta oppa 7:22 a.m.]  
** _> Tell him to eat your ass_

**[Ty 7:23 a.m.]  
**_> YUTA _😠

**[Me 7:23 a.m.]  
** _> I'm going to wait to reply I think  
_ _> I need to think about it_

**[Yuta oppa 7:24 a.m.]  
** _> Ignore Taeyong's disgusting crush on Lee Soo-man  
_ _> You don't need to respond if you don't want to  
_ _> What's he going to do, unsign your contract? Hhh_

**[Zeus 7:25 a.m.]  
** _> Does this mean you're coming home _

**[Mark 7:25 a.m.]  
** _> Yeah I'll be back Friday  
_ _> Miss you guys_

**[Jaehyun 7:26 a.m.]  
** _> Good to have you back bro_

**[Zeus 7:27 a.m.]  
** _> I missed my Mark-yah!_

**[Me 7:27 a.m.]  
**_> _😳💚

**[Ty 7:30 a.m.]  
** _> I don't have a crush on him Yuta you bastard_

The conversation turns into straight-up bickering, and it's so familiar Mark can _hear_ the words he reads, can hear Jaehyun's deep laughter ringing out as Yuta takes shit to the edge and then a little further to see if he can get away with it. Mark's rarely been away from his family, either his blood relations or his members, for this long. He didn't think he could go from the chaos of living with them, spending most of his free time with them, every single day to _missing them_ and their dirty socks in the space of a week, but here he is, misty-eyed over some texts.

The weird nostalgia gets him in the right headspace to pull up his contact for his mom's cell, though he does hover his thumb over it for a few seconds before committing. He's not afraid of his mother's reaction to what is objectively good news, but he is afraid she'll see through him and know he's… in a strange headspace. That he's torn up about leaving.

When she picks up, she sounds so happy to hear from him that it makes it easier to swallow around the lump in his throat and smile so it's audible in his voice when Mark says, "Eomma, I have some good news."

🍂🍂🍂

Mark's as ready as he's going to be for whatever Johnny's got planned, and he's still got time to kill. He'd packed most of his luggage already, leaving out just the last couple of changes of clothes he has for the next full day. Haechan is up late in his time zone complaining in the group chat about how hair and makeup takes so _long_ with the SBS employees, how are the company makeup noonas _soooo_ much faster? Mark's glad his drama is nearly wrapped; Donghyuck getting cranky leads to nothing good.

He ends up scrolling through his gallery, snorting when he realizes the last pictures he took were selfies in Johnny's bathroom, testing a new way of styling his bangs but really documenting how he looked in Johnny's oversized shirt. Before that, his camera is full of shots of Manhattan, places Mark wandered on his own and places Johnny took him when they could still risk being in public together. He goes back to find the handful of pics he took at the gay bar—there's one of Yejun smiling directly at the camera like he knows a secret, and in retrospect, that's a lot—and shakes his head at the memory, how the sting of it is gone now.

This trip down recent memory lane does remind him of all the times Mark's pored over the selcas he takes for Bubble, trying to find one where he looks decent or at least intentionally funny. He hasn't had to do that in a hot minute; the day Mark landed, he sent an old candid from the dorms to make it seem like he was still in Korea, and he sent a song recommendation late one night, but it's been radio silence since. Mark was too terrified to check his replies, to see what his fans who cared enough to buy direct access to his inbox would say, whether they'd be international fans screaming for him to get help or K-fans making jokes. If they were asking crazy shit about him and Johnny.

But he's heading home tomorrow, and his future has been secured with his digital signature, and Mark's kind of over being terrified of an app. He clicks it open, absolutely refuses to read anything he's been sent, and selects a shot of the Empire State Building to send out.

It's an acknowledgment without saying anything, for sure, but Mark sends a second message to make sure it's clear that this is his statement. This is what they're getting, unless SM does demand he humble himself in an apology tour after all.

_Saying goodbye to the concrete jungle. Thanks for the hospitality, New York! Hopefully next time I get better pics hahaha_

He bites his lip against laughter that feels inappropriate. He doesn't think he'll get in trouble for this—there's deniability in what he said, because his shot of the building is kind of blurry and bad—but it is treading the line of a statement when SM probably prefers he keep his mouth shut and not stir the pot. It's whatever, though; Mark's contract is signed, and his ticket to Korea is purchased, and there's not a lot they can do to him.

After a few minutes, he gives in to morbid curiosity and checks his Bubble replies, of which there are many. It's a mixed bag, fans expressing shock and amusement and concern, and a lot of his name in all caps.

_> aslkfsaklfnas "better pics" REALLY MARK????_

_> _🥺 _Are you ok_

_> Oppa please come back home to me!!! _

_> Did you think this was funny bc it's really not_

_> MARK!!! brb dying_

_> Mark I'm too blazed to deal with this right now_

_> _👀👀 _hows johnny btw_

It's about what he expected, and he's glad that it makes him want to laugh more than he wants to step into Johnny's shower fully clothed and hope the water drowns out his screams.

Mark's about to check Twitter and see if he's trending again when Johnny texts him an address and tells him there'll be a car waiting for him by the CVS down the street in about twenty minutes. They decided it was better to travel separately, and Johnny's next text includes instructions to have the driver take him around to the back so he can come in through the kitchens.

As Mark's donning his shoes and making sure his beanie is secure on his head, despite what it's doing to his attempt to style his hair, Haechan messages him.

**[Haechan 6:21 p.m.]  
** _> Why are fans telling me to pray for you  
_ _> What did you do now_

Even though he's nervous, since he hasn't been on a real date in years and it's his first time trying it with a guy, with Johnny, Mark finds himself laughing as he closes Johnny's door behind him.

🍂🍂🍂

The driver takes Mark to an entrance in a small sidestreet, and for a second, he feels like a character in a movie where the big boss sends the protagonist to some undisclosed location. Johnny said it would be very covert, and Mark leans into the mystery of it, smiling behind his mask as a man confirms Mark's identity and lets him in.

He's handed a keycard and instructed to use it to get to the penthouse. Mark shoots off a text as he makes his way to the elevator, amused and more excited than he thought he would be

**[Me 7:01 p.m.]  
** _> Dude, is this like, black tie?? I think i'm underdressed  
_ _> A keycard oh my god_

**[Johnny Suh 7:02 p.m.]  
**_> You'll look hot no matter what you're wearing and there's no dress code, chill  
__> _😏

He steps into the elevator, taps the keycard onto the black rectangle beneath the buttons, and hits the P before he feels the momentum of his body shift as the elevator shoots up. He doesn't know if he's supposed to keep his mask on still, but he figures it's better to be safe than to regret the possibility of having some other fan snapping a camera in his direction when he arrives at... whatever this place is.

Mark's used to covert, having to sneak around to get any semblance of privacy in Korea, but somehow tonight feels different, like the stakes have never been higher. Something about Johnny always makes things feel bigger, more monumental.

The doors slide open to reveal a rooftop bar overlooking the city, and right in front of him, Johnny stands with his shoulders back, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark trousers, looking like a dream.

"Hey, you," Johnny says, smiling, and holds his arms open. "It's just us and some of the staff. We're safe here."

Despite Johnny's reassurance, Mark is still ginger when he steps forward. Once he's in Johnny's embrace, though, he deflates, sighing as the tension leaves his shoulders and his back, his arms winding around Johnny's middle, his cheek smushed against Johnny's chest. "Holy shit, how'd you find this place?"

"Let's just say that someone extremely famous and extremely rich owed me a really huge, fat favor," Johnny laughs, pulling back so he can get a better look at Mark, tugging his beanie off for him, pushing Mark's bangs away from his forehead and pressing a kiss there, despite the sweat Mark knows has gathered from being squished under the knit cloth for so long. "Come on, we've got the best table in the house, _and_ the house all to ourselves."

Mark trails Johnny as he leads them to a table in the open air, surrounded by greenery and short, flowering bushes that line the ledge next to it. On either side of it are patio heaters that look like thin pyramids blazing with controlled flames.

Johnny pulls Mark's seat out for him, and it's silly and sweet and Mark has never been treated like this by anyone. Well, maybe Yuta or Jungwoo as a joke. Not for real.

More than that, though, is how Mark never thought it was possible for him to _enjoy_ being treated like this.

"Is it safe to, like, take this off?" Mark asks, gesturing to his mask, and Johnny nods.

"Part of the favor is having the people here sign really nice, shiny non-disclosure agreements," Johnny says with some sort of glee in his voice, as Mark pulls the garter off his ears and sets his mask down on the table. "Like I said, someone owed me."

"And you cashed in your favor for—for tonight?"

Johnny shrugs, smiling. "No better time to, honestly." He hands Mark a thick leather-bound menu. "I almost ordered us the tasting menu, but I figured we'd be better off ordering a lot of what we actually like as opposed to being bound to a fixed meal. Tonight's for you, so if you wanna just order like, a dozen lobsters, that's fine by me. We can do that." The wink Johnny throws his way makes him blush, but he figures the light is dim enough that it doesn't show as much.

The menu doesn't even list prices, and Mark has no idea what he's supposed to order, but Johnny's throwing ideas over his own menu, asking Mark if he'd like the roast chicken, if he wants wine, if he thinks two desserts is too much, and Mark's honestly content to roll with Johnny's suggestions.

The waiter approaches them a few minutes later, and Mark rattles off his orders before Johnny follows suit, the pair of them having decided to order what they want and split them evenly when the food arrives.

Once the waiter's cleared out and they don't have the menus to distract them, tension creeps back up his spine. It's frustrating because this shouldn't be any different. Sitting across Johnny and sharing a meal with him has been all he's done this entire trip, but he's nervous about saying the wrong thing, being awkward, being a bad date.

It doesn't help that what they are feels so nebulous and disorganized, and Mark's sure that they're going to have to talk about it again. He doesn't know if he's supposed to wait for the entrees to be served before he brings it up. Is this a post-dessert type of conversation?

Johnny fills the silence easily, though, talking about what he and Yejun are planning for Sky's birthday, asking Mark about his day while Johnny was at work, and Mark tells him about his Bubble message, as well as the responses he saw.

"'How's Johnny?' Damn, and here I thought we were being slick," Johnny laughs, leaning back in his chair. "Do the fans know when you've read your messages? Does it work like fucking KKT?"

"Yep," Mark says. "It's fine, though. I barely read the replies anyway."

Johnny hums. "Maybe I should subscribe to your Bubble. Get in on that exclusive Mark Lee content."

It's Mark's turn to roll his eyes good-naturedly. "Dude, you're the one who gets the most exclusive shit."

Johnny rests his hand over his heart, chuckling while he says, "Oh my God, you make it sound like you have an OnlyFans account. God, imagine that."

"Stop," Mark says, laughing. "I'd be terrible at porn."

Johnny's laughter gets interrupted with a choked-off sound, and then Johnny's coughing, reaching for his water goblet while holding his hand up to signify that he's okay. "Sorry, fuck, just—that image is… a lot. Wow." Johnny hides his smile behind his hand.

Nice to know that Mark's not the only one with his head elsewhere.

They're interrupted by their mushroom soup arriving, and the serving is so big, Mark worries that they've maybe ordered too much food and won't be able to finish it all, but his fears prove to be unfounded when the rest of their meal is brought to them. Everything is delicious—the roast chicken is so moist and tender it falls off the bone; the scallops are impossibly soft and nothing like the rubbery shit Mark is used to; the oven-roasted asparagus has Mark reconsidering his opinion on asparagus.

They chatter about mundane things—arguing about movies and anime, Johnny insisting that _Hunter x Hunter_ is arguably better than _FullMetal Alchemist: Brotherhood_ , at which point Mark begins to seriously regret ever sleeping with him. Johnny suggests they play word association games in the middle of their meal when Mark is clearly struggling to think of something to say, shyly glancing up at Johnny between bites of his chicken. The game makes Mark feel a little bit like he's on a variety show, but it's fun, because he's laughing, and when he laughs, Johnny laughs, and Mark wishes he could pull his phone out and record it, keep it for himself when he gets lonely.

They talk about a couple of the new clients Johnny's going to be handling, which explains why he was swamped with work earlier and couldn't get out any sooner than he did. Mark shovels spoonsful of food into his mouth while Johnny regales him with the wonderful tale his boss has told him of a disaster vacation in the Maldives, to which Mark replies, "Good thing I came here instead of booking a round-trip for there, then."

"Yeah, sex instead of a bad case salmonella sounds pretty ideal, huh?" Johnny laughs.

Mark can't help but look around, his face warm, even though they're safe here.

It's good that Johnny can joke about it, that he and Mark have been able to talk about these things and Mark can kiss him in the safety of his apartment and tell Johnny he wants him. But under his skin, Mark's still itchy with the knowledge that whatever he and Johnny are now, despite them playing house and acting like… like boyfriends, is still largely and wholly undefined, and Mark needs them to kind of figure it out within the next day. He refuses to walk into JFK without at least making it clear to Johnny that this matters more to him than Mark could have ever imagined.

"Hey, Johnny," Mark starts, setting his fork down. His hands go cold, despite the warmth from the patio heaters. "Thank you. For tonight. And everything. It's been like a dream, being here."

Johnny smiles at him before covering his mouth with the napkin while he chews on his food and swallows. "Dude, any time. Like I said, you're always welcome here. NYC suits you."

"I meant more like being here with you," Mark says. "But yeah, the city is great too."

Johnny's look is soft, his eyes bright in the fairy lights overhead and the heaters behind Mark. Everything about Johnny radiates warmth. Mark already shivers at the loss of him.

"It's been great having you around, Markie," Johnny says. "I'm gonna miss you a lot."

The words feel heavier than they would if it were any other person saying it. Mark feels the same way.

"I'm gonna miss you too, dude," Mark says, his throat closing up. He wants to say more, but he doesn't even know where to begin. He's only just catching up to the feelings that turn out to have been there for months, but Mark's still stumbling through them, still a little lost, still a little unsure about what he's supposed to do next. None of his relationships have ever come close to this, to what he has with Johnny, something that feels larger than life and so overwhelming that Mark thinks he could drown in it if he isn't careful.

"Are you excited to get home, though?" Johnny asks gently, and Mark's answer is immediate, without any hesitation.

"Yeah, I am," Mark replies. "This is, like, the longest I've ever been without them on my own, and it's one of those things where like, you don't realize what you've got until it's gone, sort of."

He realizes how that sounds after he's said it, and scrambles to add, "Not that I regret being here! Like, you already know—"

"It's okay," Johnny says, soothing and calm, his hand up like he's trying to calm Mark. "I know what you mean, and I'm glad you'll get to be with them again. Especially since Taeyong's leaving soon too." Johnny pauses. "Sorry, did I step out of line there?"

"No, no," Mark replies, taking a sip of his wine. "It's the truth. It's a lot of why I need to get back. And yo, fair warning, I'm probably gonna be kind of a mess when Taeyong leaves. I'll be so ugly on video call."

It's the first Mark's breached of the topic about how they'll handle their relationship once he leaves. Johnny already stated that he isn't going anywhere, and Mark figures that translates to them shifting back to their regularly scheduled texting and sending each other voice notes and video calls, but he doesn't know what the nature of those things will be. Will Johnny take to Mark's attempts at flirting? Mark swallows. Will Johnny be averse to sexting? Does Mark even know how to do that?

"You'll be puffy, sure, but not ugly," Johnny says kindly. "I don't think your face is capable of doing that."

"Is this your way of saying I'm handsome?"

"Is this your way of getting me to say you're handsome?" Johnny tosses back, raising his eyebrow with a little smirk while Mark fidgets under his scrutiny, but Johnny follows through with, "Yes, Markie, you're handsome. Always have been, but even more so now."

Mark's never really done well with praise, always ready to full-body cringe when Kai or Jungwoo or anyone directed their compliments at him, but for some reason, hearing it from Johnny feels special, delicate. Mark takes the compliment in his hands and stores it away to remember when he's feeling particularly un-handsome.

"Johnny, you're like— Dude, sometimes I can't even look at you in the eye," Mark says, smiling a little to himself. "The last couple of days I've been like, God, you're so handsome, and hot, and—and I can't believe you like me." Mark's voice gets smaller and smaller, the sentence ending up sounding like he's asking a question.

"I need you to know," Johnny says, extremely gravely, "that I would be making out with you already right now over this table if it didn't count as, like, public indecency or something."

Mark's entire body comes alive, his skin the warmest it's been all night, because they're flirting, like they're _really_ flirting, and Mark wishes he could be truly reckless, wishes he could say fuck it and climb into Johnny's lap in this stupidly expensive restaurant and kiss him under a New York autumn sky.

"You can kiss me later," Mark says, like a promise, and Johnny takes a long, long sip from his own wine before he nods and says, "Later."

The charged air dissipates some as they finish their meal, and Mark's fully aware that there's a lot more they need to get out in the open, but he tells himself to relax. Time's ticking, but there _is_ still time.

Their dessert arrives, and it makes Mark a little sad to know that dessert means that the date is coming to a close. He's lost track of the hours, only knowing that the air has gotten colder as the night wore on, but it really doesn't matter. He's been floating on a cloud since he got here, and they're going home together.

Johnny cracks the little white chocolate shell over their slice of a light chiffon cake, and Mark slides over the Sicilian watermelon pudding he chose ("What? I'm a creature of habit, yo.") so they can share.

"I've never been on a date like this before," Mark says softly, watching Johnny cut their cake neatly in half, so they get an equal share. "Not one where I wasn't watching my back the entire time."

"You know, I had all these ideas last night about what to do—I thought we could go skating in Bryant Park, or maybe watch something on Broadway, or take you to Serendipity." Johnny takes a small spoonful of Mark's pudding, his expression going from confused to pleased as he swallows. "But then what good would any of those have been if we were both looking over our shoulders, you know? So I figured that the best date I could give you would be… this. Just you and me and good food and privacy."

There's a prickle of tears, just a second of it, that Mark feels at Johnny's words, because Johnny feels perfect, perfect for Mark, and that's never been a thought Mark has ever felt with anyone else before, and it makes his hands shake. He swallows around the lump in his throat, around the tornado of emotion that fills his lungs and ravages his composure.

"I don't—I don't ever wanna be without you again, Johnny," Mark blurts out. Sudden. True. Damning. Mark looks at him with wide eyes and his hands wringing under the table.

Johnny smiles at Mark, gently taps Mark's tiny dessert plate with his spoon, and says, "I'm right here. I'll be right here."

🍂🍂🍂

This is the last night Mark will spend in Johnny's bed, and he is determined to make sure that he's awake for most of it.

He spent a good nearly forty minutes in the bathroom, grateful for his gut's commitment to sticking to a schedule like clockwork, and showered after to get squeaky clean. That included reaching behind himself to slip a finger in cautiously, still the smallest bit sore from the other night. Now that he's had a whole dick up there, the weirdness of cleaning himself is somewhat decreased—not gone, because Mark's still not reconciled to this new reality where his ass is a factor in sex and feeling good, but improved.

After, he waits on Johnny's bed while Johnny takes a shower, and Mark has no idea what he's supposed to do, how he's supposed to position himself in a way that screams, "Raw me, Johnny," as opposed to, "I'm still a newbie and barely know how this works, but I'm also desperate for your dick again."

He lies down on his back and fiddles with his phone, already on Do Not Disturb. Not even close contacts can reach him tonight. For the next couple of hours, Mark is dead to the world, existing only here in this rectangular bedroom that smells like fresh herbs and Johnny's coconut shampoo, and under that just… Johnny, and Mark wishes Johnny would hurry up because Mark's already half-hard and nothing's even happened yet.

Or, well, technically Johnny did push him against the front door when they got home and kiss him senseless, tasting like mint from his gum, and he peeled off his leather gloves to slide his hands up Mark's many layers and stroke his sides until Mark was quaking. So _something_ happened, including that one loud, broken moan Mark gave that made Johnny laugh, but that was over an hour ago. There's no reason for Mark to be chubbed up in his boxers.

But then Johnny steps into the bedroom casually naked, towel slung around his shoulders to catch the drips from his hair, his body is... there. Broad and golden. Mark's seen Johnny naked a few times now, but typically he was undressed piece by piece, and also hard, not blowing Mark's mind as he walks to his dresser and like. Moisturizes his arms? Is that really what's going on here, as Mark zeroes in on Johnny's tight, bare ass and wonders about the dildo in his nightstand? Is he turned on by the sight of Johnny's back dimples?

This is worse than puberty, he thinks, shoving his dick down so it gets the message. Johnny's rubbing lotion on his elbows, not giving him a show.

That is, until he turns around and lounges against his dresser, hip cocked, and smiles at Mark. His eyes miss nothing, squinting with pleasure as Mark resists the urge to put a pillow over himself. "I was gonna ask if you were tired, but…"

"Yeah, uh, no. Not even a little. Haha."

Johnny prowls over to the bed. There's no other word for it. Mark's too embarrassed by his obvious hard-on to look anywhere near Johnny's face, but he would bet cash money it's smug. He's hypnotized by the way Johnny's dick looks—not hard yet, but not ridiculous the way he kind of assumed it would be. He knows from experience how soft the skin feels against his lips, in his mouth, how blood-hot it gets, how Johnny huffs and shivers and clenches his fists when Mark flicks his tongue over the head.

"Baby," Johnny asks, once he's on all fours above Mark to demonstrate just how big and hot he is, how he's got Mark swallowing hard and staring at the fading love bite on his neck. "I want to try something. Can I? You can tell me if you don't like it."

"Sure," Mark says. "I trust you."

He wonders what it is, especially when Johnny dips in for a sweet, slow, lingering kiss, then climbs off him and tugs Mark's boxers meaningfully. "Off."

Mark follows instructions well, always has, and kicks his boxers into the corner. It's still unsettling to be the only one of them fully hard, but it seems like they're getting on the same page now. He tries to be helpful and reaches out to touch Johnny's dick to get him there a little faster, but Johnny pulls back and, bizarrely, hands Mark a pillow. "Can you get on your front with this under your hips?"

Mark, after a beat, does so, wriggling to get comfortable and somewhat sorry about how he's rubbing his dick all over Johnny's pillow, but it _is_ what Johnny wanted. "Is this…?" he asks, craning to look back over his shoulder.

Johnny knees down the bed to fit between Mark's thighs, and Mark spreads even wider as incentive, hoping it looks sexy. He wonders if this is the position he's going to get fucked in, his muscles tensing from the idea. He certainly wouldn't be opposed to it.

Johnny strokes a hand from Mark's nape to his ass and doesn't comment on how goosebumps erupt in his wake. "It's perfect. Your body is fucking incredible, did I tell you that?" He asks it conversationally as he digs both of his thumbs into Mark's back, above his waist, and it's so firm and good Mark grunts.

Johnny works him over like that for a few moments, the pressure on just the right side of painful, and leans forward to kiss the knobs of Mark's spine. It's weird not being able to see him, but Mark's been curious about getting fucked in other positions since, well, they did it the first time.

"It's like you walked out of my wet dreams anyway, but this ass," he continues, dragging his thumbs down and gentling them to part Mark, who sucks in a breath from the exposure and buries his face in Johnny's duvet. "God spent extra time on this ass," he says, low, and Mark smothers laughter into the mattress.

He's expecting to be asked to pass back the lube so Johnny can open him up, but Johnny surprises him by running his palms over the swell of Mark's butt and then down his thighs.

"Pretty," he says. "Baby, can I kiss you?"

"Huh?" Mark asks, as Johnny starts tonguing down his back, pulling heat into the base of Mark's spine and making his toes curl. His body is seeping in the sensation like leaves unfurling in hot water, and it takes him a few seconds to realize what Johnny means—seconds that bring Johnny to Mark's hips, pressing open-mouthed kisses to them, his hand resting on one of Mark's cheeks.

 _Oh_. That.

"I—uh, if you want to?" Mark says, pitch lilting upward. He knows people do this, he's seen it in porn and knows it's got to feel good, but Johnny wanting to put his mouth there is fritzing his brain out. He worries he's not clean enough, that he did it wrong somehow. "If you're, like, sure—"

He feels Johnny's hot breath on him an instant before— God, that's his fucking _tongue_ , sweeping over Mark's literal asshole. It's warm and wet and weirdly soothing on the most sensitive skin on his body. Mark goes tense while Johnny licks him, soft and slow, like he's bracing for something else to happen.

Johnny pulls away and pats his lower back. "Breathe, Markie."

Mark's exhale shudders out of him, and he's drawing in an equally unsteady breath when Johnny opens him up even wider, fingers digging in, and fucks his tongue shallowly into Mark's body.

It has no right to feel as good as it does. It should be weird and gross, and maybe it is a little, but his hips lift to give Johnny better access, his fingers tight on the duvet. Johnny groans against his skin and his tongue delves deeper. Mark shouldn't be whimpering, but he is.

Johnny lifts his head, probably to admire his handiwork, and says, "You taste so good."

Mark's knee-jerk instinct is to blurt out, "Stop lying," because there is no way in hell that this can _taste good_ , but then Johnny's tongue circles his rim. His lips make a seal before Mark feels gentle suction, and all Mark can do is whine, his vocal chords learning how to make a completely new sound emanate from his throat. It would be comical if whatever the fuck Johnny's doing with his mouth wasn't so good at liquifying Mark's brain.

He loses himself in it to the point where he's arching his back, spreading his thighs as wide as they'll go, getting on his elbows to push himself up against Johnny's mouth. Johnny's hands are on his hips, thumbs spreading him open as his tongue slips in and out.

Mark yanks a pillow from the head of Johnny's bed and buries his face in it. He bites down and moans raggedly as Johnny's hand moves to stroke Mark's length, slowly at first before setting a rhythm that has Mark inching closer and closer to the edge.

"Wait, wait," Mark gasps, flailing out a hand.

Johnny pulls away almost immediately, his worried, "What? Oh God, did I hurt you?" giving Mark emotional whiplash he can barely handle.

Having this conversation on his hands and knees with his ass in the air seems too ridiculous even for Mark, so he slumps to the mattress and rolls over onto his back. "No, no, I just—I don't wanna come like this," he says, his dick still twitching even without stimulus. "I want to come with you inside me."

Johnny's mouth is wet, _fuck_ , even his chin a little, and his eyes widen in what looks like shock. He's a mess, and Mark is like, really, really into that, apparently.

"After the other night, I don't think it's a good idea to, uh, force things?" Johnny says, kneading Mark's thigh. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm literally leaving tomorrow," Mark says, pushing his thigh against Johnny's hand. He doesn't care if he has to limp his way through the airport tomorrow. Some part of him kind of relishes the idea, and Mark doesn't even have time to think about the implications of _that_. "I promise I can take it." Johnny is still looking at him like he's debating the merits of plowing him, and Mark figures he might have to be blunt to get what he wants. "Not to be too real, but I've had, like, sessions on the toilet that hurt more than your dick did, okay?"

Johnny makes a noise like a deflating balloon and slumps over, shoulders shaking with laughter. "The things that come out of your mouth, I swear to God."

"Yeah," Mark says, carding his fingers through Johnny's hair. "Well. You knew what you were getting into with me."

"Yeah, I did." He straightens up, and his eyes shouldn't be so soft and affectionate after what Mark said, but they are. "Okay. But the moment it hurts, you have to tell me, got it?"

"Yes, okay, come on." Mark knees him in the side. "Hurry up and give it to me already."

Johnny smiles and shakes his head, in disbelief that Mark is like this, but whatever, Mark got what he wanted. "I need the lube for that," Johnny points out, and Mark strains to reach the nightstand and fights past Johnny's dildo once again to grab the lube and a condom.

For all that he just had Johnny's tongue up his ass, his body tightens in instinctive alarm when a slick finger probes him, and Mark has to sigh through it and remind himself it's all good. When Johnny sinks in to the second knuckle, Mark brings his knees up to his chest to give Johnny more access, and he watches Johnny's eyes fixate on where his finger disappears into Mark.

In seconds flat, he's finding Mark's prostate and giving it a little tap hello, and Mark moans and almost immediately drips precome onto his belly.

Somehow, it seems like it's _better_ this time, like Mark's body has processed the stimulus and is eager for more. Last time, it was like he was in shock over what he was capable of feeling.

"You okay?" Johnny checks in after a few minutes, measured and careful, like Mark can't see how hard his dick is or how much he enjoys looking at Mark opening up for him.

"Never better. Gimme another."

Johnny stills his hand to add more lube to his middle finger, and then Mark's biting down on a noise at the stretch so Johnny doesn't get the wrong idea and stop. He's making quick work of it this time, pressing on Mark's prostate occasionally to keep him hard and leaking, and what's wild is that Mark's body is letting him, acclimating faster than he thought it could.

It's not long before he's grunting with the stretch of three, the faintest sting, and Johnny plays with his dick and reminds him to breathe until three fingers are working in and out of him with ease.

Mark's heart races so fast, beating so hard against his ribcage it's like he shakes with it, and the desperation crests into him begging, "Johnny, please."

Johnny's eyes are blown wide before Johnny leans down to kiss Mark's ankle before pulling his fingers out and reaching for the towel he discarded at the foot of the bed to wipe his hands.

He's in the middle of rolling his condom on when Mark decides to get on all fours again like earlier, determined to sate his curiosity about getting fucked in this position. Mark looks over his shoulder like it's a challenge, and he savors the shaky breath that Johnny takes as Mark pushes his ass out even more, fighting every instinct in him that tells him it looks stupid.

" _Fuck_ , Mark," Johnny says reverently before tugging Mark closer with his fingers hooked over Mark's hipbones. He feels Johnny's cock slide between his cheeks, the head rubbing over his hole, over his perineum, making his cock twitch from the friction. "Are you ready?"

"I've been ready," Mark says, his mind fogging up from how stupidly hard he is, from how badly he wants to feel himself be stuffed full already. It's with sweet anticipation that he hears the click of the bottle of lube again before the head of Johnny's cock starts to breach him.

Mark tells himself to breathe through it, pressing his forehead against his clasped hands like he's in prayer, sucking lungfuls of air around the stretch that is only the lightest shade of uncomfortable as Johnny pushes in slowly.

"Oh—oh shit, baby, how are you even tighter this time?" Johnny asks, his voice strained.

It's not a question Mark is meant to answer, which is a good thing, since Mark's brain goes offline when he feels Johnny's hips flush against his ass, Johnny's grip tight and trembling while he holds himself still and gives Mark a chance to adjust to his girth again.

Mark's mouth hangs open as he gasps lungfuls of air, stretched out while Johnny's sheathed inside of him to the hilt, before he finally manages to whisper, "Please move."

The drag against his walls has Mark arching his back more, pressing his front down onto the mattress while Johnny hauls his ass up and closer to him, setting a slow, deep rhythm that has every inch of his cock sliding deeper and deeper into Mark, the pressure against his prostate making Mark's thighs tremble. He's keening with every thrust, biting into his fist to try to stifle it.

"I wanna hear you," Johnny says, his voice wrecked. Mark cataolgues every hiss of a breath from Johnny fucking into him, and he feels the greedy pleasure knowing that Johnny is probably doing the same too. "Let me hear you."

Mark's never been noisy in bed, circumstances making it impossible in the past, but with Johnny's bedroom door closed and Johnny's request, he can be as loud as he wants to be. It surprises even him, the way he cries out from Johnny pinching his nipples while Johnny rolls his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts.

Mark loses himself in the feeling, in the way Johnny fucks so deep into him, he can't even comprehend that his body is granting Johnny access like this, but then he feels Johnny's hands on either side of Mark's hips, pulling him to get back on all fours before Mark feels Johnny's arms slip beneath him to pull him close. The next thing Mark knows is that he's sitting in Johnny's lap, impaled on Johnny's cock, and the pressure is so strong and direct over Mark's prostate that his own cock spurts more precome.

Mark sees fucking _stars_ from this position with his back pressed to Johnny's chest, Mark's thighs bracketed on either side of Johnny's own. Hot in his ear, Johnny says, "Ride me," and Mark, well. Mark will do anything Johnny tells him to do right now, so he rises, his thighs straining. He feels the pressure abate when Johnny's cock starts to slide out of him, and then lets himself fall, a moan forced out of him at the impact.

"Jesus, oh, _fuck_." Mark pants with shallow breaths because this is the deepest Johnny's been, and Johnny is holding him against his body like he's precious, and Mark has never felt this fucking good ever. _Ever._ He holds onto the forearm Johnny has braced across Mark's chest and tries to find the right rhythm.

He feels Johnny everywhere, Johnny's teeth raking against his shoulder, in the junction of his neck. He takes Mark's earlobe and sucks on it, whispering filth about how tight Mark is, how good he feels, working his other hand on Mark's cock, a loose ring of fingers, stroking him languidly while he fucks up into Mark.

His head drops back on Johnny's shoulder as he feels his balls tighten. Johnny holds him close like Mark's gonna disappear if he lets go, and Jesus, Mark never wants him to let go.

"Johnny, Johnny," Mark manages to say, his voice hoarse, his throat dry. He brings his hand up to loop behind Johnny's head, fingers tugging on Johnny's hair while Johnny whispers hot in his ear, "I've got you, come on," and Mark is done for as Johnny takes Mark's cock in his hand and matches his strokes with every time Mark drops down into his lap.

Johnny fucks him like he's saying goodbye. It's devastating and delicious in equal measure, because this feels like pleasure distilled, all of it coursing through his veins like they're both trying to remember how every second this feels. Johnny makes it so fucking good for Mark, does his best to make it last, slowing his hips and letting go of Mark's dick when Mark tells him that he's once again close.

Johnny eases Mark off his lap without pulling out, getting Mark to lie on his front again, his cock leaking into the mattress while Johnny drapes himself over Mark's back. Johnny braces himself on his elbow, still holding Mark to his chest, still whispering filth that Mark's going to play over and over again in his head when he has to go back to jerking off in the shower in secret, Johnny's voice telling him how tight he is and how perfect his body is and how Mark was made for him.

The possessiveness in Johnny's voice and in his words make Mark shiver in the best way. He wants to be good for Johnny, wants to follow his instructions, wants Johnny to always just want _him_ , and that's when he feels tears prick at his eyes before he blinks them furiously away.

"I don't wanna go," Mark says, and it's a broken-off sound, straining under the weight of Johnny, the pressure against his prostate and on his cock; straining under the weight of his emotion. This isn't love, but it's something that feels like it could be, and right here, right now, Mark isn't afraid to tell Johnny the truth. He doesn't want to go. There's no point in hiding it, even if it doesn't change the outcome.

"Fuck, you can't—" Johnny starts, and Mark is hot all over, sweat between them partly slick, partly sticky. "I don't ever want you to leave."

And it's too much—the way Johnny gets impossibly deeper at this angle, the words he's saying, the friction on Mark's cock—that Mark's orgasm is ripped from him so suddenly, he doesn't even have a chance to warn Johnny. He feels his release come in spurts all over the bedding beneath them, noises pouring out of his mouth like he can't even help it.

Distantly, beyond the wracking pleasure that keeps making him twitch even when he's done coming, Johnny's telling him he's close.

"Wait, wait." Mark's muddled mind and hazy vision comes into sharper focus. "Let me— I want you to finish in my mouth," he says, which has Johnny cursing under his breath, pulling out, and rolling the condom off before Mark's pushing up on all fours. Johnny's kneeing his way to the head of the bed, tight grip around the base of his cock, completely pink-red and engorged.

Mark barely has time to swallow Johnny down as deep as he can before Johnny's got his fingers in Mark's hair. He looks up at him, once again blinking tears from his eyes while Johnny's dark eyes trace over his features, his thumb pushing against Mark's lips that are stretched around Johnny's cock.

"You take me so well, baby, fuck," Johnny says. "I'm—fuck, I'm—"

And Mark, despite his inexperience, braces himself for it, wills himself to swallow every pulse of Johnny's come in his mouth, closing his eyes and moaning around Johnny's dick as he works through his orgasm.

Mark's exhausted by the time he pulls away, the salt-acid taste of Johnny lingering in his mouth as he collapses on the bed, Johnny chuckling under his breath.

"I'll be right back," Johnny whispers, getting off the bed.

"Come back," Mark whines, watching Johnny's perky ass as he leaves the room.

He can feel sleep threatening to seep into his bones and swirl its way into his eyes, but he fights it. His entire body's so relaxed, Mark's pretty sure not even a fancy full day at a spa could replicate how good he feels.

That, and Johnny's probably ruined sex for him with anyone else.

Johnny walks back into the room, damp towels in his hand, his hair slicked back and dripping a bit, probably from running wet hands through the strands. "How are you feeling?" he asks, concerned, the little frown marring his handsome face as he wipes carefully around and over Mark's sensitive cock while Mark watches him in something like awe.

"Kind of like taffy," Mark says, stretching out, bringing his knees together, just the smallest touch of shy now that their arousal has ebbed away.

"Yeah, I get you," Johnny laughs, rubbing the moist towel over the wet patch where Mark shot off. "I'd change my sheets, but I kind of wanna skip to the part where I'm making out with you again, so if you don't mind sleeping on my towel—" He's sheepish as Mark rolls over to clear some space for him to lay a massive, fluffy towel beneath him.

"Hurry up," Mark says, reaching his arms out, uncaring that he's being needy. He hasn't checked the time and doesn't intend to. He wants to kiss Johnny until they fall asleep and wake up and do it all over again until he has to leave.

Johnny slides in next to him, pulling Mark's thigh to slot between his own, and kisses Mark slow and deep, tongue licking along Mark's own, catching Mark's tongue between his teeth. He tastes like peppermint. Mark feels like he's sinking in an ocean, and he holds on to Johnny for dear life.

🍂🍂🍂

It's tense in the car, which Mark hates, but he can't really do anything about it. Or at least he doesn't think so.

They quadruple-checked the apartment for anything Mark might have forgotten, and Johnny has asked him about fifteen times if he has his passport and wallet on him.

The day started the way he hoped: in Johnny's arms, the pair of them tangled in each other, squeezing in one last mind-numbing mutual handjob later in the shower. The rest was spent mostly making sure that Mark was all packed and that the presents he got for the band, the managers, his family, and Mr. Kim were secure.

Before Mark wheeled his luggage out along with the duffel bag he had for the more fragile presents that he needed to carry on, Johnny kissed him one last time against the door. Short, soft, chaste.

Mark swallowed around how final Johnny made it feel, but he kept his mouth shut, heart hammering much too loud in his ears.

Johnny's quiet for the first couple of minutes as they merge into traffic, the GPS guiding the way to JFK an estimated hour away. The radio is on, tuned into a station that's playing something chill and jazzy. Johnny's left hand is squeezed tight around the steering wheel, his right resting on his thigh. Mark kind of wishes he could take it, kind of wishes he'd taken more chances to do that while he had the chance, but he keeps his hands to himself, resting his elbow by the window.

He knows he needs to open his mouth, needs to say something, because time is slipping through his fingers. Despite last night's confession of not wanting to go, and Johnny not wanting him to leave, he still doesn't quite know what they are. He's on the verge of saying something to open it up, to talk it out, when Johnny interrupts his thoughts by clearing his throat.

"Hey," Johnny says, keeping his eyes firmly on the road. "I know like—I know Ten knows about us, but, ah." He pauses. Swallows. Mark watches his Adam's apple bob up and down. He runs his fingers through his hair again, strands falling over his eye. His nervous tic. "But if you… if you wanted to keep it a secret otherwise, I need you to know it's totally okay, I understand. You don't need to feel pressured just because Ten knows. We can just… yeah. Fuck. This isn't coming out right."

Secret? _Secret?_

"Uhhh," Mark starts, muscles freezing up. Was he supposed to have asked Johnny's permission to talk about all the specifics of his vacation here? He suddenly feels horrible for not having done so. "Uh, I can't exactly keep it a secret. Donghyuck knows. And Taeyong too. Sorry?"

Johnny's head whips to the right to look at Mark, and Mark's a little taken aback from how taken aback Johnny seems at this information. Mark's heart sinks.

"Did you— I wasn't aware that this was… that I wasn't supposed to tell anyone," Mark says, and he looks away, biting down on the inside of his cheek.

"I… no," Johnny sputters. "It's not… I just didn't think you'd want to let anyone else know about us."

Us.

"I don't even know what we are," Mark replies, watching Johnny's face. "But I'm not gonna hide it, not from the people who matter the most to me. And I mean, I think Yuta figured it out on his own. And, like, Yejun told me he knew."

He can hear himself get more defensive with each disclosure but is unable to stop it. Mark's pricked with disbelief that Johnny offered, maybe even urged, for Mark to keep it all a secret. Like what they got up to, what Mark discovered about himself, is so easily contained, locked away in a box. Even if Johnny and Mark can't work something out, Mark has to live with knowing this. That he isn't straight. That he's so into Johnny it hurts. Even if nothing else ever happens, that's his new reality.

"So if you wanted to keep it on the downlow, sorry, but I think it might be too late for that," he adds, throat feeling thick.

Johnny's got his lower lip caught between his teeth again. Yet another nervous tell. "It's not that I want to keep it on the downlow, exactly," he hedges. It's not that reassuring. "I didn't want to pressure you. And... I don't know what we are either. I mean, I know what we could be, but… that's a huge ask. We've only had days to try and catch up and figure shit out, and I don't think whatever answers we want are gonna happen in the next"—he glances at the estimated time on the GPS—"fifty-three minutes."

They lapse into silence again. Mark drums his fingers on his thigh in an irregular rhythm. He stares out the window and swallows.

"I really like you," he says bluntly. "I really, really like you, you gotta know that by now, but I don't—I don't want to hold you back either. From anything, or anyone. You've built a life for yourself here, and I know it sounds stupid coming from me 'cause I'm younger than you, but I'm really proud of you, and I don't want to, like, rock the boat, you know?"

God, it's like now that Mark's begun, he can't put a stopper on what's coming out of his mouth. His nervous longing is filling the space of this moving vehicle, desperate to get it all out there before the last of the sand in hourglass falls through.

Mark continues, "I kind of came crashing back into your life when you didn't ask for it." Never mind the fact that ever since Johnny re-entered _Mark's_ life, he's felt like he's had his foundations dug up and rebuilt, and that the process is still ongoing. "And I know you're busy with your, like, fucking killer job, and it makes way more sense for you to try to, uh… keep everything local? I know it's a lot to deal with, me being in Korea and all the idol shit."

Mark glances at Johnny's profile, tries to interpret what the hard clench of his jaw and the white knuckles on the steering wheel could mean. He's prepared to forge onward, to admit that though there's a thousand odds stacked against him, he really wants to try to stay close, or whatever, despite the distance.

But then, at length, Johnny starts talking. "I got my _killer job_ because of my mom, dude." He flashes a pained smile while still staring straight ahead. "It's a good one, and I'm happy here, and yeah, I have my life and my friends, but before you came back into the picture, I was just getting by." His hand leaves the steering wheel to put the car in neutral as traffic comes back to a standstill. "These last two months, and these last two weeks, especially, have been the happiest I've been in a long time, and that has me scared shitless."

Johnny looks at Mark, and Mark's frozen, his nails digging into the seatbelt so that he has something to fiddle with. "I didn't know you'd come to mean so much to me like this."

What Johnny says about happiness, and being scared by it, resonates so hard. Mark releases a pent-up breath. They're at least on the same page when it comes to that, if nothing else.

The closer they get to the airport, though, the worse he feels. He's never experienced yearning like this, didn't know he was capable of it, didn't know that starting this thing with Johnny would feel so much like a breakup as Mark gets ready to fly away, even if they promised each other that they'll still be talking and in each other's lives after all of this.

Mark wants more, but what does _more_ even entail here? Johnny's fidelity? Mark's time? He's an idol who lives in Seoul; Johnny's a PR manager thirteen hours behind him on a different continent. There's nothing that Mark can offer him besides the conversations that led him to New York and conversations they will have after Mark lands. He can't promise things he can't deliver. He just signed away the next five years of his life, for fuck's sake.

The hurt is surprising, especially in the wake of Johny's words. They aren't together, but it feels like a breakup anyway.

"I didn't think you'd mean this much to me either," Mark replies, looking out the window as they drive over the East River.

🍂🍂🍂

The ascent of a plane is always Mark's least favorite part of flying, and he feels it even more acutely as he closes his eyes while he's lifted up miles above JFK. It's only when he feels the plane begin to coast that he can open his eyes and look out the window at the setting sun over New York City.

He looks out over the skyscrapers and the tiny dots for cars and wonders if Johnny was already near home, or if he waited in the parking lot. He wonders if Johnny will opt to go out with his friends in Mark's absence, or if he'll get home to his unmade bed that probably still smells like the two of them.

They had to say goodbye in the relative privacy that Johnny's car provided, but somewhere in between Johnny putting the car in park and Johnny wrapping his arms around Mark one last time, Mark got the courage to say what it was he really wanted.

"I know we don't have answers right now," Mark said. "And I know neither of us expected this. But I'd like for us to work on it, figure it out together, if that's okay with you."

Johnny sighed into Mark's embrace, pressed his lips onto Mark's forehead, and said, "I like you so much, I'm willing to try anything, Markie."

It's not a clear-cut label on this thing that he and Johnny have put into motion, but it's something Mark can hold on to. He spent most of the day with dread sitting in his stomach, already missing the city and the company he had in it, but Mark watches Manhattan blink out of view and thinks of home, and the future with Johnny in it, and feels cautious hope unfurl inside of him instead.

↩️↩️↩️

**[Mark 8:59 p.m.]  
** _> Landed already! Text you after I get my luggage_

It's as though someone rang a bell only John can hear; he looks up from his phone and scans the glass exit doors like somehow Mark's going to get through immigration and customs and retrieve his luggage in the span of thirty seconds.

This feels like Christmas morning when he was a kid, the same anticipation and excitement—and the agony of having to wait for hours to go get his parents, who in no way would have appreciated being woken up before six-thirty, even for presents.

But John's an adult now, capable of patience. _Be cool_ , he reminds himself, even as he's opening his group chat and typing "He's landed! Not much longer to wait now which is good because my face is numb from the cold."

**[Yejun 9:00 p.m.]  
** _> Yeah maybe don't get to the airport 1.5 hours early next time  
_ _> Glad he's there safe! Have fun!_

**[Me 9:01 p.m.]  
** _> You know I like to be punctual_

**[Yejun 9:02 p.m.]  
** _> Uh huh_

**[Celestial Seasonings 9:03 p.m.]  
**_> _👀

**[Me 9:04 p.m.]  
** _> Okay I'm excited, sue me  
_ _> I was going crazy waiting in my apartment  
_ _> Might as well go crazy peoplewatching at JFK_

**[Sky ✨☁️ 9:04 p.m.]  
** _> JOHN JOHN!!!!!! THIS IS EXCITING DON'T LET THEM NEG YOU_

**[Me 9:05 p.m.]**

_> Thank you _

**[Celestial Seasonings 9:06 p.m.]  
** _> How long are you going to make us wait to meet him  
_ _> I wanna meet Maaaark_

**[Me 9:07 p.m.]  
** _> Girl, he literally just landed  
_ _> He needs to at least get over his jetlag before I subject him to you feral assholes  
_ _> Or do you want me to drag a dude I haven't seen in six years over to your apartment to watch you yell at Assassin's Creed_

**[Sky ✨☁️ 9:07 p.m.]  
**> 😔

**[Me 9:08 p.m.]  
** _> Except you Sky you're perfect_

**[Celestial Seasonings 9:10 p.m.]  
** _> Excuse you I'm a social butterfly  
_ _> Anyway I'm free most nights, deliver Mark unto me ASAP_

They stop teasing him about Mark, probably sensing that John is getting more and more distracted with every passing second and can't hold up his end of the group chat.

His friends have run the gamut of emotions right along with him, from the first instance Mark texted him and John realized it was really Mark and not some stalker, to their tentative attempts at being friends, to Mark booking his ticket and John frantically getting his life in order to accommodate a visit. They're as invested in Mark having a good time in NYC as John is; he broke several NDAs painting a picture of life in the company for them, and while he's kept Mark's contract issues a secret, he thinks they get how vital it is that Mark be treated like a normal person.

All John wants for this trip is for Mark to relax and get some perspective. It would be a nice bonus if they could resolve the tension that years of absence, and John's leaving in the first place, has created, but he knows that's a sore spot for both of them. It'll likely take more than a week to fix all that, but John's hopeful.

The last two months have been some of the best in his life. He's finally feeling like he's pulling his weight at work after a shaky first year; he's going to the gym regularly and his body is the best it's ever been; he's single, focusing on himself instead of trying to meet someone else's standards; and he's reconnecting with one of his favorite people on the planet.

Mark coming back into his life right when he's gotten all the pieces of it to work in harmony seems like fate. John can step up and be the friend Mark deserves. Mark's given him the chance to man up and start repairing the relationships he left in the dust out of some misguided drive to stop bitterly clinging to his past life in Korea.

He wants to do right by Mark, and he thinks he can. Every conversation they have, every time Mark relaxes enough to confide something new, every time he gets Mark to laugh that dorky, high-pitched giggle, John gets a swell of satisfaction, of rightness, that he's able to do that for Mark.

John spots Mark before he realizes he does, a slim shape moving through the crowd of people, crowned with a bucket hat that ultimately clues him in. Who else but an idol would be wearing the bucket-hat-and-mask combo?

His heart stutters when Mark calls "Johnny!" from behind his mask.

Weeks and weeks of chatting and phone calls should have prepared him for this, for the sucker punch to the gut of hearing Mark call out his old nickname this loudly, for the emotion of seeing Mark Lee in the flesh for the first time in over half a decade, but they didn't. It's like a surprise, somehow, that Mark's here, like John showed up somewhere that Mark happened to be. It's shocking that John's able to touch him—grab him up in a hug to make sure he's real.

He's not as small as he used to be, so much broader, but still easy as hell to pick up and spin around, John's arms locking around his waist, Mark bellowing in his ear with surprise and delight.

John's face is still numb, but he can feel that he's stretching it with an irrepressible smile.

🍂🍂🍂

He fucks up when he's walking Mark to his car, the graduation present something he never would have kept if his parents hadn't insisted he have reliable transportation for leaving the city and if his work hadn't offered him a permanent parking space in the garage.

He fucks up bad, but Mark doesn't even notice.

Mark's got a spring in his step despite the hours he spent cramped up on a plane, and he's still wearing his mask but ditched the hat. All that's recognizable of him are his eyes, which is probably how John's brain decides it's okay to check out Mark's ass as he walks ahead of him for a few steps.

He nearly trips when he realizes what he's doing.

John's not blind, and he's kept up with NCT when he can stand to. He's seen the progression of Mark going from a wide-eyed kid with a bad perm to a confident adult. It's not like he doesn't know Mark is handsome. It's not like he isn't proud of him for growing up well. It's that he sees Mark's tight, surprisingly firm ass and the way his jeans fit his strong, lanky legs and thinks, _Shit, he's my type_ , and _I'm a fucking sinner for this_.

He broadens his stride and catches up with Mark to put that thought away, somehow managing to keep up the conversation. It's fine. John's checked people out he had no actual interest in before, even if none of them were people he taught how to Dougie. Even if he didn't meet them for the first time in the SM cafeteria, when they were terrified and stumbling over their Korean. Checking Mark out doesn't mean he's going to do anything about it.

Mark hasn't called him _hyung_ in years, but that's what John is, no matter how cute Mark got and how blown John's mind is from having him here in person.

When Mark climbs into the car, he removes his mask and grins, eyes shining, the angles of his face so stark and handsome, nothing like the image John carried around in his head of his dongsaeng.

 _I'm fucked_ , he thinks, in awe of how fast it's hit him, staring at Mark with what he hopes is a normal expression on his face.

All those late nights pretending he keeps odd hours, staying up in case Mark wants to talk, how much he cherished the rare selfies Mark sent, how talking to Mark became the best part of his day. It's not strictly hyung behavior. It's something else. It all built up, starting with the tendrils of guilt and confusion he felt when Mark complimented him, when Mark seemed to want to talk to him more than anyone else, coming to John to spill his guts and not any of his band members.

John does his best to quell the pounding of his heart and play it cool when Mark accepts the call from Yuta, but it's a thought that won't leave him, not even as he drives away from the airport, gripping the steering wheel, Mark chattering away in his passenger seat, oblivious.

_I'm fucked. I'm fucked._

_Oh God, Mark, can never know about this._

↪️↪️↪️

"You're giving me a headache from all the pacing, honestly," Ten says from the couch where he's reclined against the armrest.

Mark halts his nervous shuffling in front of the balcony, sighing before he finally decides to take a seat on the other end of the massive sofa Jaemin convinced Mark to get, the fuzzy gray material of it cool to his touch under his sweaty palm. His apartment's still only maybe two-thirds decorated, but it felt a lot more like home once he had this couch delivered—and invited the Dream members over to sprawl on it and spill chili sauce on one of the cushions.

"Look, your manager said he'd handle it, right? So relax," Ten continues, completely at ease while Mark's all wound up.

"I know, I know," Mark replies, before resuming picking at his hangnail between his teeth while he stares at the abject lack of updates on his phone from Jong-hoon-hyung. "I just keep worrying that some fucking sasaeng will spot him, or, like, what if something happened to the plane, or God, what if it feels weird, like, it's been eight months—"

"It's been eight months, and even if so much has happened, you have not stopped talking to him once since you left New York, okay?" Ten says soothingly, nudging Mark with his foot. "If something happened to the plane, it would be on the news." He sighs dramatically. "Look, I came over to stop your spiraling—"

Mark presses his clammy fingers into the meat of Ten's toned calf. "You know I appreciate it, hyung."

He really does. Johnny's connecting flight was delayed for repairs for almost two hours, and the change in his arrival time sent Mark—who spent _weeks_ preparing for Johnny's visit, ironing out all the details, finishing schedules at a breakneck pace to have the time off, planning sneaky ways for them to do stuff around the city and dragging his members into the conspiracy with him—into an absolute panic. Ten caught his fretting in the group chat and got a car to Mark's so at least he doesn't have to sit, or pace, by himself and stew.

"It's gonna be okay, baby," Ten says, serious and sweet now, sitting up and scooting closer to Mark on the couch, winding an arm around him so Mark's jittering body is pressed against something soft and welcoming.

"How come you're not nervous? You haven't seen him in literal years," Mark asks, resting his head on Ten's shoulder.

Johnny's arrival means so much more than just Mark being able to see him again after eight long months of building a relationship despite being an ocean, and many time zones, away from each other. Johnny's arrival means Mark reintroducing Johnny to his family with a new label. It means Mark finally christening his own California king—the same brand as Johnny's. It means Johnny being able to spend time again not only with Mark, but with the people Johnny's worked hard for months to reconnect with—starting, of course, with Ten.

"I'm a little worried it'll be awkward," Ten says. "The last of my muscle memory when it comes to Johnny involves, like, literally pushing him away. But he's done his best to make amends. It won't be anything we can't handle, I swear. I forgave him a long time ago."

Mark nods. He's been worried about the awkwardness too. It's strange to be waiting for your boyfriend while his sort-of ex hangs out on your couch, but then again, Mark's life has never followed convention.

It especially hasn't in the last eight months. It's been one thing after another since Mark touched down in Incheon and exited the airport to a flurry of photography flashes and screaming fans aimed his way, like everything was put on hard reset before all its moving parts came whirring back to life.

From there, the announcement of Taeyong's enlistment reduced the sting of Mark's drunken NYC moment for most fans (especially the ones who decided Mark was "acting out" to "process his pain" because of the news), and then the announcement of Jaehyun and Mark acting as interim co-leaders absolutely obliterated it. Sure, he still gets weird Bubble messages and VLive comments about Johnny and New York, but he gets weird Bubble messages and VLive comments literally every day.

They recorded a single to release before Yong left, did the music show rounds with it, and then Mark got to see his leader, his bro, one of his best friends, look like an absolutely adorable alien with his shaved head and giant eyes. Mark misses Taeyong every day, and texts him every day, asking for updates of how Taeyong's getting along with his unit and what new things he's seen or done. It's not the same with him gone, but Jaehyun and Mark—and Doyoung, who's basically acting as the third unofficial leader in a desperate attempt to distract himself from Taeyong's absence—make it work and handle the public commitments along with the private meltdowns as best as they can.

Even though Taeyong's gone, he makes sure to give the feedback Mark needs on the demos for Mark's solo EP. It's coming together slowly, half because of the other obligations Mark has with the bands and half because he wants it to be perfect, as good as he can make it. It's slated for release next year, after 127 and Dream's upcoming projects are out and Mark's done all the capitalizing on his leader image that SM deems fit.

Mark has no idea how much longer he'll be an idol, and he needs to make the most of it while he can. Finding time for a long-distance boyfriend in the meanwhile is hard, but without Johnny's steady support—and their increasingly inventive digital sex life, which involves a burner phone Mark locks in a safe when he's not at home and two-step authentication to access dick pics, thanks to Yejun's only mildly awkward advice—he feels like he can do it. He can be Johnny's long-distance boyfriend and have a solo and co-lead 127 and keep all of those plates from dropping.

Then there was the part where he came out to his members and his family, and that was a week Mark feels like he slept-walked through in a haze of tears and late-night conversations. Mark's been exceedingly careful about what he says around anyone who isn't a manager he trusts—hence the burner phone. The world won't end if Mark is outed, but his career might, so he's seizing every opportunity he can while he still has them.

His pocket buzzes, and Mark sits up in a hurry and wrangles it out of his jeans while Ten, nosy as ever, makes no secret of reading over his shoulder.

 **[Johnny** 💞 **11:32 a.m.]  
**_> Heeeeere's Johnny!!!!  
__> Sorry baby, I landed a while ago but the airport wifi was NOT having it and I need to get one of those pocket wifi things  
__> I'll be with you soon  
  
_Johnny sends a selca, and he looks admittedly a little rough, his eyes puffy from all the sleeping he probably did on the plane, but even seeing Johnny's mask-covered face is enough to have Mark slumping on the couch and closing his eyes in a silent prayer of thanks for Johnny landing safely.

 **[Me 11:33 a.m.]  
**_> Oh my jesus im so glad you landed safely _😭  
_> Were you able to get in touch with jonghoon hyung?  
__> I cant wait for you to get here!!_

"You two are so cute," Ten says, digging his chin into Mark's shoulder in a way that's probably meant to be affectionate but feels like punishment. "Last call, bro. You sure you don't want me to leave now? Just in case, ah…"

"In case what?" Mark asks, bemused, twisting to look at Ten and to dislodge his pointy chin. "In case we turn into weirdos who can't wait fifteen minutes for some privacy? Nah, dude, you came all this way, and I know Johnny's gonna be excited to see you."

"I don't think he'll even notice that I'm here," Ten says, smiling.

🍂🍂🍂

Johnny already had the code to Mark's building—a place so secure he's paying out the ass for the privilege—and Mark left Johnny's picture and name with the front desk last week as part of his frantic prep. It's a surprise when Mark's door buzzes, in the middle of telling Ten a story about how his mom literally tried to invite Johnny to stay with Mark's parents as some kind of misguided olive branch. Mark stalls out mid-word, stares at Ten with huge eyes, and only gets to his feet when Ten bodily shoves him off the couch.

"Go get your man," Ten says.

Mark puts one foot in front of the other on his way to the front door, tugging at his bangs and wondering if he should have brushed his teeth again, or made sure he looked okay at the very least, but then his shaking hand is keying in the code to disengage the alarm and unlock the door, then removing the deadbolt—

There he is. Worn and weary from travel, but so fucking beautiful, so tall and strong and _real_ , mask hanging around his neck.

"Hi," Mark says, so softly it's mostly air.

Johnny grins, eyes nearly closing, like he's relieved. "Hi, baby."

Mark remembers to actually let Johnny in, and Johnny wheels his suitcase behind himself. Mark stammers something about _Yo, put your stuff anywhere, I don't care_ , and Johnny lets go of the handle and yanks off his cross-body bag to dump it on the floor where he's standing, in Mark's hallway, in Mark's apartment, and opens his arms wide.

He falls into them, colliding with Johnny messily, his arms going around Johnny's middle. It's like they're magnetized, snapping into place, and Mark is hit with a wave of relief and joy so wild he gets dizzy with it. He closes his eyes. He has so much to do, so many things to catch Johnny up on—including his hard-won ability to deepthroat, thanks to dildos he _also_ locks in the safe when he's not using them—but right now, this is all that matters. It's the biggest thing, the most important thing, to hold onto Johnny.

Johnny rocks him from side to side, then holds Mark at arm's length so he can look at him. "I can't believe I'm here."

"Yeah," Mark agrees, and he goes onto toes to kiss him, to wind his hands in Johnny's hair, but a slight sound from the apartment—so slight he almost misses it—reminds him of one important factor. "Uh, so, head's up, Ten's here?"

Johnny freezes, his face stiffening from the slack, blissful expression that Mark knows precedes a good-ass kiss, and then his mouth drops open. "Tennie?"

There's a high-pitched, awkward laugh that travels from Mark's couch to them in the hallway, luckily concealed from view so Ten didn't have to watch them get all soppy and handsy. "Hi, Johnny. Uh. Surprise?"

Johnny's expression does a few more somersaults until it lands on excited, though he looks down at Mark and mouths _What the fuck?_

"I was really going through it—you know what, I'll explain later," Mark says, peeling himself away from Johnny's broad chest with regret. Johnny's not wearing cologne, and he kinda smells like stale plane air, but Mark would fully bury his nose in Johnny's neck and huff if it weren't for Ten waiting for them.

Okay, maybe Ten probably should have cleared out before their reunion. But still. Mark's an adult. He can wait. And who can say if Johnny has the energy for sex or even some heavy-duty making out after all that travel?

Johnny reels him back in before Mark can go far, startling an _ack_ out of him, silenced by a quick and promising kiss. "Raincheck," he murmurs against Mark's mouth, and Mark's heart thunders all over again that this man is in Mark's _home_. He's the one who helped Mark get this home, and he's helped build it along the way, offering suggestions for things to buy and making it clear that under no circumstances can Mark furnish his apartment solely from IKEA.

"Raincheck," Mark agrees, and guides Johnny by the hand to the living room, where Ten is perched on the couch with a too-straight back and a guileless expression in his eyes, which are round and… shining.

Mark's thrown yet again when he realizes that Ten might actually be tearing up. "Bro, what the fuck, are you crying _already_?" he demands, totally on instinct, wincing the second it's out of his mouth. "I mean—"

"Shut up, okay," Ten says, lower lip wobbling, smiling bright like he might be able to force the emotions away. "I just forgot how tall your stupid boyfriend is."

Mark yanks Johnny to the couch in a hurry. Somehow, the three of them end up in the most awkward, half-seated, half-standing group hug Mark's ever experienced, Ten's fingers gripping Mark's back, Johnny's right palm on the back of Mark's neck, his other on Ten's.

So maybe it's a _little_ weird that Mark and his boyfriend are hugging his boyfriend's crying kind-of-ex, and maybe Mark still isn't great around crying people, but he wouldn't trade it, not for all the solos and sponsorships and money in the world.

Later, after Mark takes a ten-minute "bathroom break" to give them some privacy and comes out to both Johnny and Ten looking red-eyed and exhausted, when Ten announces his manager's waiting for him in the garage, he kisses the top of Mark's head and then the top of Johnny's and tells them to take care of each other.

"I'll see you at the dinner thing tomorrow, yeah?" Johnny asked, quiet and with Mark tucked into his side, his socked feet on Mark's coffee table, his coat slung haphazardly over a nearby chair that Jeno picked out.

"Yeah, of course," Ten says, absently fiddling with an ear piercing. He's much calmer now, an even calmer version of his usual self.

While Mark has no business asking about what he and Johnny talked about, he hopes it was what they needed. Ten and Johnny are two of the most important people in his life, and while they don't have to be best friends again or anything, it means a lot that they're doing this. That Mark can be around them both.

"Kiss the cats for me," Johnny calls out, when Ten's disappearing around the corner to the hall. Ten waves a graceful hand behind him, and after a few moments, Mark hears the beep of the alarm disengaging, then the door closing.

In Ten's absence, Johnny exhales, long and slow.

"Sorry if that was… a lot," Mark says, and is immediately comforted by Johnny's hand rubbing the back of his neck, finding the persistent aches and coaxing them to loosen their grip. God, Mark missed this. "I was climbing the walls waiting, so he came over to keep me company."

"It was fine," Johnny says after a second. "Good, even. I just wasn't expecting it."

"Yeah, I bet," Mark snorts. "Our romantic reunion, or whatever, and then your ex."

"He wasn't my ex," Johnny says immediately, and looks down at Mark when he jabs Johnny in the side. " _Technically_ , okay, he wasn't my ex."

"I think it helped to break the ice," Mark continues, ignoring Johnny's technicalities when he knows full well Johnny and Ten were in love with each other back in the day. He can't stop putting his hands on different parts of Johnny, since he's been deprived of it for months and months and now they have complete privacy. Johnny's thigh feels more muscular than Mark remembers it. "I was so fucking worried it'd be weird when I saw you again, dude. Like, I didn't know what was gonna happen."

"Oh, you didn't?" Johnny laughs, stroking the side of Mark's jaw, his cheek, with his thumb, cupping his face. "You didn't know I'd see you and instantly want to push you against a wall, huh?"

"I mean," Mark says, trembling with sudden want like a match strike, the tingle of Johnny's earlier kiss on his lips. "I didn't know if you'd be… tired," he says, and Johnny tilts his face up with a finger under Mark's chin and licks into his mouth so easily it's like they've been doing it every day for eight months.

It turns out Johnny _isn't_ too tired, and Mark _finally_ breaks in his bed and gets to reap the benefits of very thick apartment walls.

🍂🍂🍂

The restaurant was Kai's idea, a place he's been to a lot with bigger parties, and Mark went all out and rented the whole place for them for tonight. It's not _all_ the neos, and he invited Sehun but he was out of town, but it's a good fifteen people plus two staff members to wrangle them all in one space.

Mark's had two beers and is drunk on the company, the way the restaurant's lighting is giving them all a warm, golden cast. Most of the important people in his life are spread out before him, drinking and eating and shouting and stealing things off each other's plates. There's a few notable absences—Taeyong, for one, who deserves to be here but will have to make do with pictures, and Mark's parents and brother, who have their own important dinner for Johnny to attend tomorrow—but he's literally never felt more at peace than this moment.

The seating arrangements keep changing so that people can slide over and interrogate Johnny, or both Mark _and_ Johnny, and since there's NDAs signed and no cell phones allowed for the staff, he's able to sit right next to him, half in his lap, and it's only a little weird because no one but maybe Ten has seen Mark like this. Seen Mark in Johnny's orbit, flushing every time Johnny refills his water glass or offers him a bite of something or just checks in on him. They're seeing Mark be someone's _boyfriend_ , and it's got to be as wild for them to witness as it is for Mark to be so open like this.

If they get spotted by sasaengs or whoever on the way out of the restaurant, so be it; part of the plan for this big dinner, and Johnny's trip in general, is surrounding him with members so there's plausible deniability. Yeah, it's gonna suck to go on what are essentially chaperoned dates with accompanied staff and a member or two for a buffer, but it's what needs to be done if Mark doesn't want to end up a hashtag again. Johnny visiting all his old Rookies friends is one thing, but Johnny spotted around Seoul with _only_ Mark would set everything on fire.

He won't be an idol forever. It is what it is. The things he has to do to have this are immense and sometimes seem impossible, but in this moment, with Jaemin drunk and talking a mile a minute while Yuta plays with his hair and shoots Johnny exaggerated expressions over the top of Jaemin's head, with Ten holding court with Lucas giggling at his side, with Haechan and Jaehyun flanking Taeil and Haechan giving Mark a truly unsettling wink from across the table, it's all worth it. All the risk, all the precautions, all the strife—and the tense phone calls made when one or both of them thought this might not be sustainable, that it might snap—it's been so he can sit here stuffed full with delicious food, surrounded by his members and leaning on the man he loves.

Something Mark marvels at, as well, as he lets the warm laughter and raucous conversations wind their way around him, is how easily Johnny fits in here—like it hasn't been years since he last tugged on Winwin's ear or bantered with Jaehyun. He fits in as Mark's boyfriend, and the comfort that Mark feels, that he can relax and be himself around the people he loves the most, that he can sit back and watch Johnny make conversation without having to be itchy about Johnny feeling left out by Mark's job and entire setup, is something that he really doesn't take for granted. Hell, Chenle spent nearly fifteen minutes essentially grilling Johnny on what designs he had on Mark, referring to Mark as his little brother the entire time, and Johnny answered every question with an amused smile and a hand on Mark's thigh under the table.

Mark takes another gulp of beer and shifts in his seat, the movement making him extremely aware of the bruises on his inner thighs and the lingering ache inside him. It's a pleasant ache, a reminder that Mark got fucked so good he lost the ability to form words, a reminder of what they'll probably be too full and sleepy to recreate tonight.

"Bro, do you want to split dessert with me?" Ten asks—more like shouts, given the distance between them and the general noise level at this enormous table.

"Ah, man, I'm gonna have to be rolled out of here. Split it with Lucas?"

"He'll eat it all himself," Ten complains, and that just makes drunk Lucas laugh more, snuggling into Ten's side, which Ten allows with a roll of his eyes.

Mark smiles and goes to drink more beer only to find that he's finished it. He frowns into the cup but figures it's probably a good stopping point. He really is full, to the point of drowsiness. He feels like he could sit here forever, suspend the moment in amber.

At least until Haechan drops an ice cube down the back of Taeil's shirt and Taeil starts yelling and frantically trying to shake it loose.

Johnny looks down at Mark, who knows he's too tipsy to be in complete control of his face and that it's all scrunched up from the stimulation of so much damn noise. "You look beat," he comments, and flicks a lock of hair that's drooping over Mark's forehead. "You want to skip dessert and go home?"

Mark glances around the table, now that Taeil's sat back down and is muttering at Haechan under his breath while Jaehyun pretends nothing's happening. The dinner is coming to a close, not least because they've eaten through enough food for an army and beyond, and the dessert Ten's ordering is a signal that people are going to start leaving. Even if he wants this moment to go on forever, it can't. That's life.

"Yeah, I think I do." He thinks of the ride back to his apartment in the back of Jung-hoon's car, he and Johnny in darkness lit by neon as the city goes by, Johnny resting his hand on Mark's knee, Jung-hoon peering at them in the rearview even though Seoul drivers are unhinged and he really shouldn't look away from the road. He thinks of Johnny filling up the space of his apartment, which still feels too big for him, too empty, sometimes. He thinks of going to sleep with Johnny's heartbeat under his ear, steady and slow. "Take me home, Johnny."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🐍: Y'all, use dental dams if you're gonna rim someone. PLEASE. 
> 
> Not to get corny, but coming to the end is so strange and wonderful and sad!!!! Thank you, again, for coming on this ride with us.
> 
> 🐱: Thank you to every reader who has gotten this far—whether you were here from the start, or decided to read this now that it's complete, we're thankful that you chose to pick this sort of behemoth of a story to read. Thank you to every single person who has left a beautiful comment for us to read. The reception honestly, truly kept us afloat and we wouldn't have turned out a story like this if it hadn't been for you guys cheering us on through it. ❤️
> 
> [Here's the playlist for the fic on Spotify!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/03dN7VHTXh3DWBlgDgPojM?si=NKgtQFtSS6iKUQZtYZurfg)
> 
> Troye Sivan - Take Yourself Home  
> FINNEAS - I Lost a Friend  
> Billie Eilish - everything i wanted  
> Gotye, Kimbra - Somebody That I Used To Know  
> Bastille, Marshmello - Happier  
> Bleachers - Hate That You Know Me  
> Taylor Swift - Welcome to New York  
> Fall Out Boy - Wilson (Expensive Mistakes)  
> Hikaru Utada - Simple and Clean  
> Taylor Swift - Delicate  
> Troye Sivan - rager teenager!  
> The Weeknd - Call Out My Name  
> Lorde - Perfect Places  
> SuperM - Big Chance  
> Frank Ocean - Self Control  
> Joji - Your Man  
> Sufjan Stevens - John My Beloved
> 
> Follow us on Twitter: 🐍 is [@sssneakiest](https://twitter.com/sssneakiest) and 🐱 is [@johnyumark](https://twitter.com/johnyumark).

**Author's Note:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed! Buckle up for the ride. :D
> 
> Follow us on Twitter: 🐍 is [@sssneakiest](https://twitter.com/sssneakiest) and 🐱 is [@johnyumark](https://twitter.com/johnyumark).


End file.
